


Lies for Rent

by WhatButAVillain



Series: Lies for Rent and Prices Paid [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale is not Aziraphale, Crowely is genuinely evil, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Dark Crowley (Good Omens), Forced Pregnancy, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Rape Roleplay, Rimming, Safewords, Sexual Roleplay, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), mentions of adult themes, playing fast and loose with history, playing fast and loose with the bible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24079696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatButAVillain/pseuds/WhatButAVillain
Summary: Crowley has a secret. He's not actually Crowley. There is no Crowley. He is in fact Satan, Lucifer. And he's been planning to make this angel Fall for centuries. Too bad he never meant to fall in love with him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Lies for Rent and Prices Paid [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761784
Comments: 428
Kudos: 411





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. I plan for it to have a happy ending but no telling what it might take to get there. It came about as I didn't have enough Crowley is Satan fics. And someone somewhere many months ago wanted a fic where Crowley was trying to get Aziraphale to Fall. So I am going by the seat of my pants right now with this. There isn't much of a plot but I am hoping to get it finished soon. However, I am moving tomorrow and will not have internet on my laptop for a while since I have to wait for the self installation kit to come in and who knows how long that will take with the current state of the world. Or rather the current state of the country, USA if anyone cares.
> 
> All that to say, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think or any ideas you have for where things are going. I'll be as excited as you all to find out how this all plays out.

It wasn’t fair. All he did was ask questions and then She did this. Falling hurt. But it wasn’t the Fall or the sulphur pools he landed in. It was all the others that Fell with him. His followers. He was the first to Fall but once he had landed and pulled himself from the burning pools with his tattered wings he watched in horror as all around him were shooting stars; stars he heard screaming; stars he recognized. That hurt the most. He stood and climbed above the pools onto the cliffs overlooking his new kingdom and watched with an aching chest as his friends pulled their tattered and broken forms from the poisonous pools. Looking around at the broken remains of his friends he stared up at the now guarded gates of Heaven and swore.

He was responsible for this. For them. The pool at his feet writhed as the being in it splashed and struggled, frantic to get out of the burning acid. Lucifer watched in pained silence as his once confidant tore xir way out of the liquid and onto the hard and barren rock. Xe looked up at him panting from the effort and out of breath from the screaming. When xe spoke xeir voice was harsh and ragged.

"Lucifer, what happened?” Xe asked brokenly.

He shook his head and looked out to the other pools of lava and acid watching as more and more friends tore their way onto the rock and the screaming stopped replaced by cries of agony.

"We need to get them help. She won’t be helping us anymore. None of Her angels will.” He spoke suddenly. "And it’s not Lucifer anymore. Those are the names She gave us. It’s time to choose our own.” He paused, "Satan. I’m Satan.” He looked down to the figure at his feet. And reached down to give Xir a hand up. He fought not to recoil at the look of Xir. Festering wounds had broken out across xir face and body. The flies that xir had worked so hard on had coalesced into a cloud around their head and crawled over their rotting flesh.

"But...of course, Sire. She has abandoned us.” Xe whispered taking the hand and standing to look out around the barren landscape Xirself. "What of the others?”

"We rebuild. Get them up.” He said stepping away and moving to the next pool over and reaching down to pull the prone figure there to their feet. Again he noticed the festering wounds and the creature aspects that had turned their heavenly visage into something bordering on monstrous but held back his instinct to turn from them. He had done this to them. He had led them and his actions had caused Her to cast them out. He would not fail in his responsibility to them.

Xe watched him move off before nodding and following his lead in the opposite direction. Xe noticed the festering open wounds on Xir companions faces and hands and bodies but ignored them as best xe could. Together they made their way through the rocky terrain. Picking up the pieces of their Fallen brethren.

Once the pools were empty and the sounds of crying had tapered off, the newly Fallen Angels, demons they called themselves formed around Lucifer as they often had in Heaven.

"My friends, we are no longer angels. She has cast us out of Her Mercy and Her Love. We are demons now. And we will destroy that which has been taken from us. Let us build a kingdom here. A kingdom to grow stronger. A kingdom to destroy that which is denied us. When we have grown stronger we will march upon the gates of Heaven and we will tear down the walls and show Her that we are not to be ignored.” Satan spoke with vigor and as they had in Heaven his followers listened and cheered. He spoke to their broken and aching hearts. And the rage in them grew stronger at his words. They would take the time to heal and they would take their revenge.

Satan looked over to see his confidant, and gestured xir over to his side. "Have you found your new name?” He asked xir, placing his arm around xeir shoulder.

"Beelzebub,” xe croaked. Xir voice still ragged from screaming.

"Beelzebub. Get them working. I want a kingdom fit for all of us. Nothing like Heaven. I want nothing to remind us of Her.” Satan told xir.

"As you wish it, My Lord.” Xe told him bowing xeir head. "May I ask where you will be?”

"I’m going up to cause some trouble.” He told xir smiling conspiratorially causing xir face to break out into a malicious smile. 

Going up to Earth as a Demon wasn’t hard. It was what form to take once there. Fearing that he had the same open and festering wounds on his own form as his followers, he decided to take the form of one of the newly named creatures. He may have created and worked on the stars but the others, they had told him enough about their own work when he spoke with them. Against the advice of his fellow archangels. Though the form he chose was one that Michael had been working on. That of a serpent. Size being relative, he grew to become a monstrous things as big around as a human head and long enough to swallow one whole if he hadn’t had something even better planned for them.

He snickered to himself as he came out from under the ground pushing through the rich soil and going to search out the blessed ones. He came first upon the female and winding himself over to her side, whispered gently in her ear. His sibilant hiss threading its way into her head.

“This apple will give you all that you desire. It will bring you knowledge.” And he had scarcely finished speaking when the human woman had stood and was on her way to the Forbidden tree. Reaching up she grabbed hold of the low hanging fruit and Satan felt his heart thrum in his chest. She was going to do it. Adam had come to her side and as Eve took a bite of the crisp fruit the sweet juices running down her throat and chin leaving a sticky path that she wiped away with the back of her hand handing the rest of the fruit to Adam. Seeing nothing happen, Adam too took a large bite of the fruit and Satan, seeing his work done, turned away to be gone before the fallout happened.

He explored the garden in his serpent form and found himself impressed and proud of the work that his followers had done and remembering those he had pulled out of the molten rock and acidic sulphur pools, felt anger in his chest at how those great angels had Fallen so far and those great works had been twisted into the form of his fellow demons. Something not man-like and not creature. Something between. Something to rub in their faces that they are not Angels and will never be again.

It was then that he saw the angel standing on the wall looking not into the garden but out. Satan snickered to himself again as he made up his mind and began to wind his way up the wall and to the angel’s side. Nothing like messing with a poor lone angel so far away from his fellows. He tried to smile but the expression was wrong on this form. Changing form from Serpent into man-shaped demon was easier than he thought it would be and felt the burn of a brand sear itself onto his skin next to his ear. He felt his wings spread out behind him and he schooled his features into blankness at seeing them dark and black as the sky he hung the stars in.

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” He commented blankly.

The angel smiled nervously looking out at the humans and back to him. “What was that?” He asked nervous but politely.

“I said, well that went down like a lead balloon.” Satan repeated himself a touch louder.

“Oh. Oh yes. Rather.” the angel agreed.

“Bit of an over reaction if you ask me. First offense and everything.” He paused. “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.” Satan confided in a whisper much like he had with Eve. He hid a malicious smile behind a gentle one.

“Oh, well it must be bad,” the angel paused looking at him.

And he realized the angel didn’t know who he was. Obviously or he would have called for help from the other three guardians. Thinking quickly he gave what passed for a name. “Crawley.” He offered. And felt like banging his head against the wall they stood upon. Crawley what kind of a half-assed attempt at a name was that?

“Crawley,” the angel repeated but did not seem to find the name strange. “Otherwise,” he continued his thought from before. “You wouldn’t have tempted them into it.”

“Oh they just said get up there and make some trouble.” Crawley, now, said. In for a penny in for a pound. Though just what a penny or a pound was he didn’t know.

“Well obviously, you’re a demon. It’s what you do.” The angel said and Crawley, Satan, Lucifer, demon of too many names felt a stab in his chest at the thoughtless words of one of his former brothers. And resolved to continue. Doubt. He was very good at inspiring doubt.

“Not very subtle of the Almighty though is it? Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a big ‘Don’t Touch’ sign on it. Why not put it a long way off like on a mountaintop? Or on the Moon?” Satan paused a moment for his words to sink in. “It makes you wonder what She’s really planning.”

“Best not to speculate.” The angel said. “It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to know. It’s” and he looked so smug. “ineffable.”

“The Great Plan’s ineffable?” Satan asked incredulously. The Great Plan that God said She was planning. The Great Plan he Fell for asking about? The Great Plan that She said she was going to be testing Her creations and he asked why? Why test something you claim to Love? Why he Fell? Why they all Fell? It was all ineffable and that made it ok?

“Exactly.” The angel replied and then began quoting a dictionary at him. He was rather more concerned with what he saw on the angel’s waist. Or rather what he didn’t see.

“Didn’t you have a Flaming sword?” he asked. Looking up in time to catch the look of guilty terror on the angel’s face. “You did. It flamed like anything. Lost it already have you?” he goaded gently.

“I gave it away.” The angel murmured. And he almost didn’t catch it.

“You what?” He asked amazed. This one was going to be his soon. He could feel it.

“I gave it away.” The angel cried out distressed. “There are vicious animals out there and it’ll be cold out and she’s expecting already. So I said. Here. Flaming sword. Don’t bother to thank me just take it and go. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.”

Satan just stared in transfixed wonder. This was a fun angel. It would almost be a shame for him to Fall.

“I do hope I haven’t done the wrong thing,” the angel said nervously.

“Oh you're an angel I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.” Crawley said with a smirk thinking of all his followers down in, what he was going to name, Hell. All those that hadn’t done anything wrong. Like himself. What had he done that was so bad as to be thrown out? Permanently.

“Oh. Oh. Thank you. It’s been bothering me.” The angel told him in relief. And Crawley had to suppress a wicked smile. This was going to be a fun toy if they ever met again.

“I’ve been worrying too.” Crawley decided to confide. “What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business. A demon can get into a lot of trouble doing the right thing.” He gave a light laugh. “Funny if we both got it wrong. If I did the right thing and you did the bad one.” he chuckled.

The angel smiled at his laugh but quickly backtracked. “No it wouldn’t be funny at all.”

Crawley shrugged as if to say, ‘what can you do?’ it suddenly started to rain and Crawly took a step to the side closer to the angel who without a word lifted up his wing to shield the being next to him. Crawley took another step until he was fully under the angels wing and looked up and then over. The angel was studiously looking the other way. Crawley decided to ignore it. The two stood in silence for quite a while longer until the sun had gone down and the rain had stopped. Before Crawley had given a nod and turned around and shifting forms made his way down the wall and back into The Garden. The angel watched him go with a nervous flutter of his hands.

Crawley made his way to the pond and shifted forms again to look into the clear water under the full moon and inspect his form. His hair had changed colors. And his eyes were those of a serpent. He found he could not change them back. And the brand of a snake on his temple spelled out his name in a Hellish rune. Changing his hair back to his regular golden locks, he began to sink deeply into the ground on his way back to Hell.

His smirk remained on his face through the layers of rock and was still there when he reached ground level. That angel was toast. Keeping his eyes peeled for another shooting star, Crawley, Lucifer, _Satan_ , makes his way to where he can see the host of demons working. They are building a throne and when he reaches them he sees a crown sitting on the throne. Swaggering through the demons who stop working and watch him pass by, he makes his way to the throne and picking up the crown twirls it around his finger while still smirking, and takes a seat. He places the crown upon his head and it tilts dangerously low on one side of his head. The throne is stone and bone and not very comfortable but he lounges in it like a snake his legs thrown over the arm of the throne.

“My Lord,” Beelzebub asks nervously.

“The humans have been thrown from Her Grace.” He says maliciously. And his smile is contagious as it always has been. The demons around him murmuring and smiling. And Beelzebub laughs. “Bring me the builders. I have plans.” And his smile is like a sharks. Full of sharp teeth and malice.


	2. The Old Testament

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crawley, Satan, spends more time on Earth and continues to run into his not so Fallen angel.

The builders were called and Hell was being built into something magnificent. Rivers enchanted to cause forgetfulness or slumber, rivers of ice, rivers of fire and ring upon ring of tortures. The pools of lava and sulphur and acid held in reserve. The halls of Hell were cramped and crammed full of demons. 10,124,076 demons to be exact. Satan was always exact. He demanded perfection from his demons. A different sort of perfection to that of Heaven but the exacting standards were there all the same. Not a single demon dared to fail. It had been around a decade since they had begun building and Hell had shaped up into quite a horrible place. Satan was amused and proud. He knew his demons were good at building and creating but what they had made here was absolutely horrendous. And he loved it.

Beelzebub had taken to leading the other demons in his absence which admittedly was not often. But even he wanted to take a break every now and again. He took to wandering in his Crawley form and introducing himself as such. Though he was planning on changing his name. Crawley, really. How did he manage to come up with such an idiotic name? He knew it was right on the nose for what he had been at the time but he prided himself on being better than others and quick on his feet. He had not been exceptionally quick that time. He introduced himself to Beelzebub as Crawley and even xe did not recognize him. So he took to calling himself into his throne room and quarters. Taking time to make himself a valuable member of the demonic hosts.

Beelzebub only asked once why he spent so much time with a demon of no repute. He told xir that it was Crawley in the Garden with him that tempted the humans to the first sin. Xe never asked again.

The next time he makes his way to the Earth and humans, there is no angel nearby though he can feel one close enough to be a bit of a worry. He goes in his usual state with blond hair and smile like a shark and whispers to Cain. _Why should you be put second to your brother?_ His whisper smooth and quiet. Nearly not even a whisper at all. More of a thought. And when Cain sees the rock he picks it up and Satan turns away. There is no angel nearby even the one that should have Fallen by now. And it is not disappointment that he feels.

The third time he goes to Earth it is in the form of Crawley. There is an angel nearby. The Humans have taken to wickedness like Satan had taken to ruling. It was surprisingly easy. He finds his way to the edge of town and recognizes the angel as the one that should be His by now. The one that gave away a Heavenly artifact to the Humans. Aziraphale. His demons have been doing reconnaissance. The Humans have started to call out to God again. And it’s this angel’s fault. There is a twinge of something like hatred in his chest as he looks at the angel that gets what none of his demons did. He gets a second chance. He disobeys God and doesn’t Fall. What makes him so special?

He’s going to find out if it kills him. He decides to sneak up on the angel and soon is by his side. “Aziraphale.” He says with a cheer he doesn’t feel.

“Crawley.” The angel greets nervously.

“Giving the humans a flaming sword, how did that turn out for you?” Crawley asks.

“The Almighty hasn’t actually mentioned it again.” Aziraphale answers, wringing his hands together.

“Probably a good thing.” Crawley says. _For you._ He thinks. _You will be mine someday, angel._ What he says instead is. “What’s all this then, build a big boat and fill it with a traveling zoo?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you this. Being a demon and all but...I hear God’s a bit tetchy. Wiping out the human race.” Aziraphale tells him lowly looking around nervously. “Big storm.”

“All of them?” Crawley asks and tries not to smile.

“Just the locals. I don’t believe God is upset with the Chinese. Or the Native Americans. Or the Australians.” The angel lists.

“Yet,” Crawley admits without letting his glee show through. The angel is upset after all, unlike what the rest of Heaven would feel he is quite sure. He must act similarly if he has a hope of getting this angel to trust him enough to question and Fall like he intends him to.

“And God’s not really going to wipe out all the locals. Noah, up there.” Aziraphale points at the huge ark in front of them. “His sons and their wives. They’ll all be fine.”

“But they are drowning everybody else?” He emphasizes and the angel nods miserably.

Crawley watches the children running around. “Kids? You can’t kill kids,” The outrage is not wholly faked. Even he doesn’t go after kids. Not personally at any rate. Distasteful. Too easy, truthfully. Kids don’t fight back. They are low hanging fruit and he has his eyes set on a larger prize. One with wings. “That’s something you’d expect my lot to do,” he continues. And the angel nods.

“I didn’t get a say in this. And when it’s over, God’s going to put up a new thing called a rainbow as a promise to not drown everybody again.”

“How kind.” Crawley replies and the sarcasm is not faked.

“You can’t judge the Almighty, Crawley. God’s plans are…”

“Are you going to say ineffable?” Crawley interrupts irritably.

“Possibly.”

“Still seems cruel if you ask me. Children haven’t made any choices to sin.” Crawley muttered and the angel wrung his hands as they watched the first raindrops fall. This time there is no wing to shield him from the deluge to come and so Crawley takes his leave sooner in an attempt to stay dry.

Satan goes back down to inform the denizens of Hell what he has learned and they all laugh at the influx of wicked souls coming down. Even as he watches the kids clinging to their mothers' aprons and knows his little angel is probably crying himself into a tizzy. And if he takes a chance to go to the royal quarters and throne room to laugh himself silly away from the crowds, no one needs to know. Satan explains himself to no demon.

The third time they meet is in Sodom when Aziraphale is showing one of his fellow angels the city and Crawley whispers into the ears of the townspeople wicked desires. Angels after all are perfection incarnate. Handsome and beautiful in a way that is irresistible to humans. It draws them in like flies to honey. And much like the flies, the humans are pests that take and take, devouring and gorging themselves on the beauty in their grasp.

It didn’t take much for the humans to be tempted and Crawley turned away as the crowd gathered to assault the newcomers. They may be breaking the rules of hospitality but the assault of a couple of angels, never mind that the one was _his_ , would ensure that these humans made it to his domain. And they would deserve it. Rape was most assuredly his realm. There was a twinge of something in his chest at the thought of his angel in such a state. Not guilt, not sadness, more like jealousy or desire.

The fallout of the townspeople’s actions is unexpected. But then again, Aziraphale does seem to be one of Her favorites. Getting away with anything and everything. And they didn’t even get assaulted. There is another twinge of something in his chest, not relief but possessiveness. He hunts down his angel in the city and the angel doesn’t look out of place or even that bothered. He seems almost relieved to see him. Crawley feels his chest tighten in possessiveness.

“Angel,” he greets. “Heard there was some trouble with some angels in the city. That was you, I presume?”

“Hmm. Oh, yes. The townspeople were really quite rude.” Aziraphale admits crossly looking more like a kitten than an angel.

“That’s not what I heard. I heard they were a bit more than rude. Otherwise why would there be a smiting happening throughout the city? What were they trying to do?” He asked and found himself growling a little at the thought of the humans hands on his angel.

“Well, what does it matter anymore? They are all going to die. Aside from that nice Lot. And his daughters.” Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously.

“What even was their sin?” Crawley asked prowling around the angel.

“Pride and sloth. Mostly. And refusing to aid the poor and destitute.” Aziraphale said, not bothering to keep his eyes on the orbiting demon.

“I see. Not the desire to rape you?”

Aziraphale cringed.“There’s no need to be crude, Crawley.”

Crawley shrugged smoothly. “I had better get out of the city if there’s going to be smiting going on. Maybe take a trip up to the cliffs overlooking the city. Watch the show. Out of sight of the angels,” he says in a not quite invitation. Then adds, “who are they sending to smite them?”

“Sandalphon.” Aziraphale admitted readily.

“Bet he’s enjoying that.” Crawley said lowly.

Aziraphale does not respond but he nods slightly. Crawley nods his head at the angel before walking away. “See you later, Angel.”

The next time they meet is in Egypt. Crawley is encouraging idolatry by granting wishes in the temples of the Egyptians. He is Crawley still or Crawley always anymore. Very rarely going down below as things have been speeding along down there quite without his guidance. He knew he had left Beelzebub in charge for a reason. Xe was meticulous as he was and twice as harsh when given leave. Crawley had taken up residence in the Palace as a priest of Ra. When the slaves started getting uppity, he whispered in the Pharaoh's ear to _destroy them. Break them. Tear down their morale until they can be remade in his image._ And then turned away as, like so many lesser demons, Pharaoh went after the lowest hanging fruit, killing the children. But one got away, as Crawley was to learn. By the miracle of an angel, a single child made it out of the slaves quarters and to the Palace. Recognizing His angel’s work, Crawley met with the angel of the slaves quarters. His little angel.

“Aziraphale, what are you doing in Egypt?” Crawley asked the angel coming across him in the Jewish camps.

“Taking care of Her chosen children. You?” Aziraphale asked, falling into line with the demon.

“Impersonating a priest in the Palace. Tempting them to idolatry.” Crawley answered. “You will never believe, though, what’s come into the Palace.”

“Oh, won’t I?” the angel asked nervously.

“A slave boy. Pharaoh in his mercy has taken him in as his own son.” Crawley answered him, guiding them into the richer district and toward the temples. The gold at his wrists and neck ensuring that they were left alone to wander.

“And it had nothing to do with you at all, fiend?” The angel asked wryly.

“Me?” Crawley asked genuinely amused. “I can’t go around helping Her chosen children like that.” He protested weakly but sincerely.

“Then I suppose you were responsible for the deaths of the firstborn sons?” Aziraphale accused him weakly.

“Not a thing. Pharaoh thought that one up on his own,” the lie dripping from his lips expertly. And the angel gave a sigh of relief. _Soon, little angel, you will be one of mine._ Crawley thought viciously as he wandered the streets with the blond next to him. It was not a heavy silence nor was it awkward it simply was. And gradually, the angel stopped fidgeting as they wound their way between the streets.

“Come. Dine with me, Angel.” Crawley asked, leading the angel to one of the Palace doors.

“I really shouldn’t. Angel’s don’t really need food. And I should be getting back to the Slaves district.” Aziraphale demurred.

“Angel’s may not need it but there is no harm in partaking a little bit. Just a few bites.” Crawley cajoled. “It won’t kill you. Or discorporate you. Nor will it even cause you to Fall. I promise.” He smiled, friendly and sincere.

“I...I suppose a nibble wouldn’t hurt?” Aziraphale asked nervously.

“Not at all. Come in, Angel.” Crawley said, pushing aside the door and gesturing him into the room. He led him through the Palace to his quarters. Where there were platters of fruit and jugs of wine. Slowly as to not scare the poor thing that was so close to being his, he reached out with a handful of grapes and a cup of wine. “Here. Just one bite. You wouldn’t want me to eat alone would you?”

“I suppose it’s only polite,”Aziraphale said slowly and took hold of the cup and several grapes. Very slowly and looking towards Crawley for reassurance he lifted the cup to his lips and pausing for a breath, he gently tipped the cup back and let the wine splash softly against his lips a moment before opening his mouth and taking a small sip. He swallowed loudly and they both waited with bated breath but no light from Heaven, no crash of thunder, no opening of the Earth arrived to signal his Fall. Slowly they both released a breath that wasn’t necessary. One in relief and the other in disappointment which he quickly covered with a friendly smile.

“See, Aziraphale. No harm done. Try the grapes next and I’ll have platters of meat brought in. How about some bread and honey?” Crawley asked plying him with sweet foods and drinks.

“I...I suppose there is no harm in it.” Aziraphale said and took some of the bread with honey and taking a mouthful let out a moan of delight. So it was with each new food that Crawley had the Palace slaves produce, Aziraphale would take a bite and his groans and moans of appreciation were nearly obscene. Crawley was not a stranger to Lust or Gluttony. He had tempted many humans into them himself but never before had he been on the receiving end. The angel was positively filthy in the sounds he made and the tableau spread out in front of him with half eaten plates of sweet and savory filling the room. It was positively wasteful. And he smiled to himself. The angel may not Fall today but he had found his weakness it seemed. Food and drink.

They spent the afternoon and into the evening sampling the Palace kitchen and while the angel never finished a single portion he sampled so many foods that he was quite stuffed to the brim. The rest of the food laid out in wasteful heaps upon the platters to be thrown out once he left. When the kitchens ran out of new dishes for the angel to try, Crawley, who had been feeding the angel from his own hand for most of the afternoon, turned to him.

“It seems you’ve tried every delicacy that Egypt has to offer, Angel. And not a scorched feather to be found. I told you that you had nothing to fear from indulging a little.”

“It seems you were right, Crawley. Do forgive my hesitancy. You were quite right. And food is simply delightful. The humans have come up with such marvelous flavors to satisfy their need to eat and drink.”

“They have indeed. So, shall I escort you back to your residence? Or would you be willing to stay the night with me?” he asked lasciviously.

“Oh, you old fiend. That, I know, would most certainly be out of the question,” the angel protested in shocked outrage.

“Relax, angel. I was joking.” He smiled friendly and open, placing a chaste kiss on the back of the angel’s hand that had been sitting next to him and quite happy that the priest's robes were rather loose. He stood slowly and reached a hand down to help the angel to his feet from his reclined position. “Let’s get you back in one piece.”

The walk back to the slaves quarters was in silence. And reaching their destination, Crawley once again spoke. “See you around, Angel.” Crawley told him, stopping back at the spot that he had first run into the angel outside what seemed to be his living quarters.

“Oh, oh, yes, quite.” Aziraphale said opening the door and watching Crawley saunter away. He never noticed the sharp smile on Crawley’s face as he walked away. The angel was beginning to trust him. This was more work than he had thought he would need to put into stealing this little angel but never let it be said that Satan was scared of a challenge.

Hearing of the murder Moses committed brought a smile to his face. Learning that it was the angel he was defending brought with it rage. The humans dared lay a hand on _his_ angel? He almost instructed Beelzebub to save that soul for him. But then calmed. It wouldn’t do to have xir question his singular interest in a no name Egyptian. He had been enjoying his time away from his throne and playing with the humans.

The plagues that came after Moses had returned were absolutely wretched and Crawley reveled in it. The flies and locusts were old friends to him down below and even though these were sent by Her, he still felt a kinship with these pests.

And the death of the Egyptian first born in response to Pharaoh’s attack years earlier was poetic. Far be it from Satan to admire Her work but it had a certain something to it that made him giddy. The angel’s face as he wandered the slaves district painting blood on the doorways brought a laugh bubbling to the surface.

“Angel, what are you doing?” He greeted taking the bucket of blood into his hands and walking beside him. The gold accouterments of his stolen office glittering in the light of the fires being used to light their way.

“Painting the blood on the doorways so Azrael will leave these houses be when he comes to kill the firstborn sons of Egypt.” Aziraphale answers fretting and trying to take back the bucket. Crawley’s grip, though, is strong and as he is moving with him and not dumping the blood, Aziraphale gives in and lets the demon aid him through the evening.

“Oh, So She’s really going through with it? Killing kids again, I mean. Funny how they are always the first to suffer Her wrath.” He mused.

“Not the first. The last though. Pharaoh will have to let them go after this?” It is not so much a statement as a question.

“I’m sure he will, yes.” He lies. _Or he will order them all killed._ He doesn’t say. And he thinks the angel doesn’t consider.

They work in silence through the evening and find themselves holed up in Aziraphale’s home for the night as Azrael works through the kingdom. In the morning, Crawley will go to Pharaoh and whisper in his ear to let them think they have been freed before hunting them down. Tonight though, he spends with an angel keeping silent vigil over the Jewish slaves. And inside he is laughing. More children for his kingdom. Not a one for God Herself or Heaven to claim. He wonders idly how many know that all the dead find their way to him. He thinks that the angel next to him has no idea.

When the sun begins to rise, Crawley stands and makes his way to the Palace and sees the Pharaoh prone over the body of his son, weeping. He approaches silently and leans down to whisper in his ear. Words of hatred, words of cunning, words of planning. And Pharaoh listens. He gives the word. Let the slaves go. Drive them from the city. And as he does so, he begins to gather his army. And Crawley smiles his shark smile again. He goes out to watch the slaves leave the city and sees a mop of blond hair among the slaves and smiles. The angel will either be discorporated with the others or he will watch as they are slaughtered. It will be delicious. So, Crawley decides to give up the priest's robes and, using his powers to keep himself hidden, flies out over the slaves, following their path to the sea. He watches as they run into the sea and as they notice Pharaoh and his men riding out to decimate them. And he screams in rage when the sea melts away to allow them passage. His scream mingling with Pharaoh’s. The angel gets away. And Satan watches as Pharaoh and his men and the chariots drown as the sea collapses back onto itself.

He decides not to stick around any more. Instead he travels down to Hell in order to welcome the new arrivals. He spends quite a bit of time in Hell catching up on paperwork that Beelzebub left for him and torturing the human souls. He goes up and down but very little happens that he feels needs his personal attention. Until he hears about a new civilization moving into idolatry again called the Greeks. He smiles his shark smile and makes his way to the surface again. He spends some time inducing wars and sieges between the city-states. Until Rome is founded and then he decides to take a little time to visit Her chosen again. Cause a little chaos. The priests are incredibly easy to tempt into Pride and Greed even Lust. It isn’t the first time he has shed his skin to be more feminine in look nor the first time she had tempted humans into Lust. She spends much time as a prostitute to prod the men into sin. And it’s easier than ever before.

When she hears of the birth of a child king in the slums of Bethlehem, she whispers in the ears of Herod. _Kill them all. They want your throne._ And then she turns away as Herod takes to it like humans have always taken to sin. Killing the young sons en mass. But he gets away. Another miracle but not with his angel’s signature. She keeps as close a tab on him as possible but loses him in Egypt. She finds him again once he is an adult. The Son of God they call him and she remembers what the prophecies say about him. She follows the group closely but not in the midst of the throng. Still tempting the men to Lust and Greed and violence. But the men nearest to this Son are seemingly immune. All but the one. Judas. She whispers in his ear and though Judas does not act, she sees the look in his eyes grow harder and harder.

When this Jesus fellow takes to the desert for a time alone, she strikes. Tempting him alone with food and water and power and all the things that men fall so easily to. And. It. Does. Not. Work. This man is seemingly immune to temptation and vice. Forty days and forty nights she tempts pulling out all the stops. But this is harder than tempting the angel. That is a long game temptation. This is on a much shorter time scale. She finally has to surrender. No matter, the man will still be in her domain sooner rather than later.

When they return and reach Jerusalem, she follows them to the temple and sees the hatred in the priest's eyes and it takes barely a whisper in Judas’ ear to have him agreeing to betray the man. At the crucifixion, she sees the angel standing and approaches.

“Come to smirk at the poor bugger have you?” she asks amused.

“Smirk? Me?” Aziraphale protests.

“Well your lot put him up there.” She says and while they planned him up on that cross she knows for a fact that she pushed the right buttons to make it happen. She hates feeling like she played right in Her plan but the man had irritated her.

“I am not consulted on policy decisions, Crawley.” Aziraphale says cringing again at the hammer blows.

“I’ve changed it.” Crawley says.

“Changed what?”

“My name. Crawley just wasn’t doing it for me. A bit too squirming at your feet-ish.” Crawley admits and it is the complete truth. She had hated that name but now she has a new one chosen. One that actually sounds like a name instead of an adjective.

“Well you were a snake.” the angel tells him testily. “So what is it now? Mephistopheles? Asmodeus?”

And while both of them are nice and he has been known to go by Mephistopheles before, Asmodeus would be quite cross if they found out that the low ranking demon Crawley was using it as his own name. It would require her to come clean about who Crawley is. And she rather enjoys her freedom these last few thousand years.

“Crowley.” She says instead. And Aziraphale tilts his head as if inspecting the name and finding it fitting. Crowley nearly rolls her eyes at the idea of the angel judging her name choice. The hammer continues to fall in front of the crowd and both of them wince. One in sympathy and one in irritation.

“Did you ever meet him?” Aziraphale asks after a moment.

“Yes. Seemed a rather bright young man.” Because it seems like what her persona would say, her sympathetic heart going out to the young man. She nearly laughs and has to swallow it back. “I showed him all the kingdoms of the world,” she admits.

“Why?” the angel asks, confused.

“He’s a carpenter from Galilee and this is first century Palestine. His travel opportunities were limited.” He winces again at the sound of the hammer fall. “Ouch. That has got to hurt. What was it he said that got everyone upset again?”

“Be kind to one another.” Aziraphale tells him lowly.

“Ah. That’ll do it.” Crowley says wryly. They watch as the young man is hoisted up and as he breathes his last breath. There is silence between the two celestial beings for a time. Until...”I suppose I should get going. Humans aren’t going to tempt themselves. Well, actually they seem to do pretty well without me. But you know. Image to maintain.”

“Oh, Of course. See you around? Crowley.” Aziraphale asks timidly.

“Of course, angel.” Crowley smiles gently in triumph and walks away. As he leaves, his smile turns sharp and once alone he makes his way back down to Hell. It is a mess. The man apparently was indeed the Son of God and stole most of his favorite toys from him. Taken them to Heaven. And Satan takes out his rage on those left behind. 


	3. The Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and his Angel come to an Arrangement.

It is 8 years later that Crowley decides to go back up to Earth after taking out most of his frustrations on the remaining sinners, determined to claim as many souls for Hell as possible while he’s up there. He makes his way to Rome, who has been quite settled into a super power by now and the Emperor Caligula is ruling poorly. He is taking his rest in a tavern near to the Palace when he senses the presence of the angel. His angel. He decides to ignore it for now. He is in no mood for subtlety.

As he orders at the bar, the angel it seems has noticed his presence as well for suddenly he is next to him.

“Crawley. Crowley,” the angel corrects himself. “Fancy running into you here.” He says sitting next to him. “Still a demon then?”

“What kind of a question is that? Still a demon then? What am I going to be? An aardvark?” He bites out irritably. He doesn’t get a second chance like this angel or indeed it seems now, the Humans. All of them get ineffable Mercy and he and his followers get a million light year dive into a pool of boiling sulfur. It’s not fair. And this angel has no idea how lucky he is.

“Just trying to make conversation.” the angel admits a frisson of hurt in his voice.

“Well, don’t,” he answers back shortly. There is a moment of silence when Crowley’s mind is blank before he sighs. “Cup of wine? It’s the house wine – dark.” He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking to the bartender, a lovely young thing that would be so easy to corrupt. “A cup for my acquaintance here.” And she hands it over. He looks her up and down. He takes the time to poor out a cup to hand to Aziraphale.

“Salutaria!” Aziraphale toasts before taking a drink. “In Rome long?”

“Just nipped in for a quick temptation.” He answers, not particularly invested in the conversation.

“Tempting anyone special?” the angel asks still trying for conversation.

“Emperor Caligula. Frankly, he doesn’t actually need any tempting to be appalling. Going to report it back to head office as a massive success. You?” Crowley answers. And it is mostly the truth, as all good lies are. He does still have to report as Crowley.

“They want me to influence a boy called Nero. I thought I’d get him interested in music. Improve him.” Aziraphale admitted. And Crowley made a note of the name to tempt him a bit extra once the angel had left.

“Couldn’t hurt.” he said instead. “So, what else are you up to while you’re in Rome?” Obviously, he was eating and drinking still. It had been ages but Crowley smiled remembering the night he had introduced the angel to the pleasures of food and found himself inordinately pleased that the angel had continued to indulge on his own without prompting.

“I thought I’d go to Petronius’ new restaurant. I hear he does remarkable things to oysters,” the angel confided with a wiggle of excitement.

“I’ve never eaten an oyster,” Crowley answered back, hoping.

“Oh, well then let me tempt you…” and there it was even better than he imagined it. “oh. But that...that’s your job. Isn’t it?” the angel said nervously.

Crowley smiled a genuine smile of amusement as he took another swallow of wine.

“Is that an offer, Aziraphale?” he asked amused.

“Well, I mean. Yes?” the angel offered, hesitantly.

“I would love to try oysters with you, Angel.” Crowley said genuinely. Watching the angel eat would bring him nothing but pleasure. Eventually, if he encouraged it enough, the angel may even overindulge into Gluttony and Fall.

“Oh. Oh, well,” And the smile on the angel’s face is blinding in it’s angelic purity. “Then may I escort you there?”

“Perfect.” Crowley practically purrs and stands leaving the cups and jug of wine sitting on the counter.

Aziraphale smiles and stands as well and leads the way out of the tavern, Crowley spares a look to the bartender to see her shaking her head. With a smile he turns to follow much better prey into the streets of Rome.

The walk is taken in silence. But soon enough they are walking through the doorway of a restaurant and Aziraphale is requesting a room for them to eat in undisturbed. They are led back to a private room and they both sit waiting for the promised oysters to be brought and once they are, with a jug of wine and cups, the angel digs in with gusto.

It is reminiscent of Egypt in the sounds the angel makes. They are quieter now but the moans are still there in the first few half-shells. Before Crowley takes one into his hands to follow suite. The meal is taken in the same silence as before with the angel eating the majority of the food. Crowley more attracted to the wine than the food.

“How long do you plan to stay in Rome?” Crowley asks quietly, not wanting to disturb the angel’s meal but desperate to break up the groans of delight coming from him.

“For a while. At least until Nero is properly blessed. I suppose. But I do need to get back to Mesopotamia as well. The new Christians are growing slowly but steadily. They need guidance and protection.”

“Yes, the Christians,” and Crowley fought hard to keep his bitterness out of his voice. As the angel didn’t mention it, he must have succeeded.

“I suppose you will be staying for a while as well?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yes, for a while. I have a place to stay in one of the estates if you would like to join me.” He makes the offer expecting the same outrage as when he offered to stay the night with him in Egypt. Instead the angel makes a considering sound and Crowley is shocked.

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.” he eventually says but Crowley can tell his heart is not in it. He could push. Promise he won’t Fall for this. But truthfully, Crowley is too shocked. And while the thought of ravishing the angel is more than amenable, the thought of doing so without his consent is even more appealing. But that would ruin all his hard work these last few thousand years. Could he control himself? He is not sure but he has to try. This is the perfect opening he has been waiting for.

“Come on, angel. There’s no harm in it. You and I both know sodomy wasn’t the crime at Sodom or Gomorrah. What are you afraid of? I can promise to make it good for you.” He leans in towards the angel his voice low and soft. His hand gently running over the angel’s arm whisper soft.

“What if Heaven finds out? Or Hell? No. No it just wouldn’t be right.” Aziraphale protests and he sounds serious but still intrigued by the idea.

“They won’t find out. Pleasures of the flesh aren’t the sin, Aziraphale.” Crowley purrs.

“Enough, Crowley. I entertained the idea for you but I refuse to follow through. And if you continue to push I will leave you here by yourself.” But even that threat doesn’t feel real with half a platter of uneaten oysters.

“Alright, angel.” Crowley knows when to stop pushing but the idea is planted. Slowly his hand stops it’s movement to sit idly on the angels spare hand, a gentle weight. And Aziraphale does not shake it off.

The rest of the night passes in low conversation about the goings on in the palace and what the Emperor is likely to do next. And when the oysters are gone, so too are they both. Crowley back to the palace estate and Aziraphale to where ever he had taken to staying during his time in Rome.

They don’t pass each other again in Rome but not because they are avoiding one another. They simply have work to be doing in different areas. Crowley, having cemented his position as the sole demon on Earth and the favorite of the King of Hell still had to report to Beelzebub and the Dukes of Hell on his reports. It grew tiring for him bouncing back and forth between being King and a nothing. But on Earth, on Earth he was it. The sole full time demon. No responsibilities and he got to have fun with his little toys. Including his angel. It wasn’t long before Aziraphale left Rome to guide and protect the new Christians and Crowley decided to play a bit with his poor angel.

Nero. That was the name of the child Aziraphale was influencing. And a name that was quite well known in the Palace. After Caligula was murdered by his guards, Claudius took over the throne of Rome. And adopted young Nero. Quite the musician as Aziraphale had taught him but still so young and ripe for the taking. He had just ascended the throne when Aziraphale was pulled away and without the angel, well. Humans were so easy to tempt. They did most of the work themselves. Crowley would be a fool not to take this opportunity. He already has easy access to the palace and slipping himself in as an advisor to the young king is easy. When he tells Nero of his mother’s plans to murder him, well, it’s not a complete lie. And so it begins. A downward spiral of depravity.

It’s the Christian candles that cause Crowley a bit of unease. He had turned Nero against the Christians, of course, but the ways in which he turned against them went beyond what even Satan himself could imagine. And the entertainment aspect. Hundreds of people rooting for the lions to devour their fellows. Rome certainly deserved Hell. But really, how many of them ended up with him? He did contact Beelzebub to get a handle on the numbers and it was depressingly high. It is while attending one of Nero’s parties where the Christians were tarred and lit on fire for use as candles that Crowley decided to get roaring drunk. Creativity that is what Hell has been lacking. The demons take their cues from the humans but the humans, they take their cues from themselves. And their creativity knows no bounds.

The death of Locusta was another straw that broke him. Bestiality while not unknown in Hell was still off the table. Most demons did not take part in sexual activities. But those that did still avoided the topic. Too many of them remembered working to create the creatures to be involved in anything untoward with them. But Nero and the humans. Depraved in a way that Hell could never be. That even Crowley, _Satan,_ and by Hell he was beginning to forget his own name, could never be and he _had_ begun to develop a bit of imagination. He could certainly fantasize which is a form of imagination, about his angel. When said angel shows up Crowley is deep into his cups and drunk off his mind.

“Crowley,” the angel hissed.

“Ngk,” Crowley muttered from his place on the floor.

“Crowley, get up right now.” And G- Hell was the angel using his Angel of the Lord voice on him?

“Wha-? Wha-ou wan-?” Crowley asked squinting up at the righteous angel standing above him glaring at him.

“Crowley, what happened?”

“I dun-. ‘m drunk.” Crowley said quietly as he tried to lever himself into a standing position.

“I can see that. I meant what happened with Nero? Oh, do sober up.” The angel told him exasperated.

Crowley took a moment and had to focus very hard but all of a sudden the alcohol was gone from his bloodstream and all he was left with was a fuzzy taste in his mouth from the weak wine he had been drinking.

“What do you want, Aziraphale?”

“I want to know why my protege is murdering people.” Aziraphale hissed.

“I don’t know. All I did was let him know his mother was trying to kill him and he spun out from there. I had nothing to do with it. Not about those Christians either. Or poor Locusta.” Crowley admitted mostly truthfully. He may have said they needed to die but the method had been all Nero. The sick fuck.

Aziraphale heaved a great sigh. “I believe you, Crowley. God help me but I believe you.”

“You...You do?” Crowley asked timidly, surprised but not in a way. He knew the angel was coming to trust him but for him to just believe him without doubt was still a surprise. He was still a demon, _the_ demon.

“Yes. But Heaven is not pleased.”

“I don’t imagine they would be.” Crowley told him seriously.

“Well...Well.” Aziraphale began.

“Yeah.” Crowley agreed. And that was all that was said on the matter. Before Aziraphale turned around and left again.

Crowley waited until the angel had left completely before flopping back onto the ground. Great. The angel trusted him. But how to get him to Fall was still a mystery it had become a personal challenge by now, trying to claim this angel. The angel left Rome but Crowley, despite his newfound respect for humans and their creativity, still had work to do in Rome. The turn over of corrupt Emperors was impressive and each one had a red haired advisor.

Soon enough, Rome crumbled. Or at least the Empire did. And Crowley, not wanting to go back to the desert decided to head farther north into the ‘savage’ and ‘Godless’ outskirts of ‘civilization’. He refused to believe he was following the angel. But Hell didn’t really care much about directing him while Heaven seemed to be much more into micromanaging his angel.

The suits of armor were heavy and stifling. And the island was damp and foggy. And the court of king Arthur too Good. Unity did not lend itself to discord. And Evil thrives in discord. So as the angel was in the court helping Arthur to spread Peace and tranquility, he resolved to foment violence and discord. He was not expecting the angel to show up in the middle of a muddy field looking for him. Or rather looking for his Dark Knight persona.

“Hello,” a voice comes out of the fog on the road, a voice he recognizes. “I, Aziraphale of the Table Round am here to speak to the Black Knight.”

Oh angel. You have no idea. Crowley smiles a cunning smile full of teeth under his helm. It would be so easy to end him in this fog without him having a clue. But Crowley instead motions his men to lead the angel to him.

As Aziraphale approaches, he prepares to make his entrance. Helm on and down he struts forward, as much as one can strut in armor. “You have sought the Black Knight, foolish one. But you have found your death.”

Aziraphale pauses for a second in confusion. “Is that you under there Crawley?”

“Cr _ow_ ley.” He corrects and lifts his helm.

“What on Earth are you playing at?” the angel asks. He doesn’t see the men surrounding him but Crowley does. And Hell if he will let some humans put a hand on _his_ angel.

“It’s all right, lads. I know him. He’s all right.” Crowley tells them and the humans back off, luckily for them. “I’m here spreading foment.” He tells the angel truthfully.

“Is that a kind of porridge?” Aziraphale asks and oh the angel is still so, oblivious.

“No! I’m, you know, fomenting dissent and discord. King Arthur's spread a bit too much peace and tranquility in the land so I’m here, you know...fomenting.” He explains patiently.

“I’m, er, meant to be...fomenting peace,” Aziraphale admits nervously.

“So we are both working very hard in damp places and canceling each other out?” Crowley asks, an idea forming in his mind.

“You could say that. It is a bit damp.” Aziraphale agrees. And Crowley nearly rolls his eyes.

“Be easier if we both stayed home. Sent messages back to head office saying we’d done everything they asked for.” He suggested. His voice soft and sibilant.

“That would be lying.” Aziraphale protests but much like in Rome with the oysters his heart doesn’t seem to be in it.

“Possibly. But the end result would be the same. Cancel each other out.”

“But my dear fellow,” and that was new, “They would check. Michael’s a bit of a stickler. And you do not want to get Gabriel upset with you.” He admitted nervously.

“My lot have more to do than verify compliance reports from Earth. As long as they get the paperwork they seem happy enough. As long as you seem to be doing something, now and again.” Crowley says softly.

“No. No out of the question. I am not having this conversation. I’m leaving.”

“Alright, angel. No more talk of shirking our duties. What else are you up to with Good King Arthur?” Crowley asks as the angel turns away. He may have pushed a tad too far but he can still get the angel back to trusting him.

“Not much, just questing and such. Taking part in tournaments.” Aziraphale says turning back around slowly and hesitantly.

“Tournaments?” Crowley asks. “I would love to see that. Maybe I’ll see you there someday.”

“Hmmm...yes? Maybe. Yes.” Aziraphale agreed as Crowley turned away and left his armor clanking into the distance. Aziraphale watched him fade into the fog before turning around to mount his horse and head back to court.

When word comes of a new tournament, Crowley considers his options. The Dark Knight couldn’t possibly attend a courtly tournament. But a young lass? She certainly could. And the angel was simply delicious to tease.

It had been ages since Crowley had donned a female form but it felt just as it had back with that Son of God. And it still brought a frisson of rage to think of all the souls being taken from him right out the front gates.

She arrives to find the angel in the process of donning his armor for the jousting. Coming up behind him, she gently lays her hand on his shoulder and smiles as he jumps.

“Angel, you sure are jumpy. Nervous?” she asks softly.

“Crowley,” the angel sighs and turns around. “What are you doing here?”

“I did promise to come see you compete, did I not?” She asks teasingly.

“Like that?”

“And why not? The Black Knight may not be able to attend but a young lass like myself would hardly be out of place here. Besides who else would you pledge your service to?” Crowley asks gently orbiting around the half dressed angel.

“Crowley, that’s not...what are you doing?” Aziraphale asks as Crowley steps into his space and presses up against his body.

“I haven’t forgotten, how you wanted to come to my estate in Rome. Is this form a better one to ask you again?” she asks lowly her face inches from his.

“Oh,” The angel blushes prettily. “No. No. I can’t. It would be completely wrong.”

“Not completely. What are you afraid of, angel? Earthly pleasures aren’t necessarily sinful. Just a little fun between friends.” Crowley’s voice is a whisper as she gazes down at the angels lips before raising her eyes to meet his. Her hands walk up the clothed chest to tangle in the ties of his tunic.

“Friends?” he clears his throat gently. “I think I should continue getting ready.” His voice is quiet and more of a question than a statement.

“Must you?”

“Crowley, if anyone finds out. They’ll destroy us.” Aziraphale protested. Crowley pouts a moment before stepping back and picking up the breastplate next to them.

“I don’t think they would destroy us, Aziraphale.”

“Maybe not you. But I would be. Or Fallen. No angels have Fallen since the Beginning. I can’t be the first in millennia.”

“But you want to.” Crowley asks, her voice quiet and sad, eyes downcast as she plays with the metal in her hands. And Crowley fights a smile.

“My dear, I am quite sure it would be just as enjoyable as the food you introduced me to. But we can’t.” The angel says firmly but softly, his hands reaching out to brush against Crowley’s delicate wrist and taking the breastplate from her hands.

“I understand.” Crowley says straightening and meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. _You will be mine one day angel and I know just how to get you._ “I had best let you get ready. See you around, Angel.” She says as she turns to leave the tent.

“Crowley, will you still watch?” The angel’s voice is a whisper. Almost missed.

“Course, angel. Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Front row seat, me.”

Aziraphale was made for combat. It’s easy to forget in his soft exterior and mannerisms but with Crowley sitting front and center of the jousting ring, he puts on a show. No human stands a chance against the might of Heaven in a single soft angel and Crowley’s heart thrums in her chest and a smile of satisfaction plays on her face as she watches the angel decimate the competition. No one is hurt anywhere except their pride but the angel wins the tournament that day and the days following. Soon enough though, the Black Knight must get back to work and Aziraphale heads back to the castle helping the King with uniting the kingdom.

It doesn’t last for long. Always there are forces outside even the Heavenly and Hellish influences that look to other lands and wonder. Humans are good at conquest. But even with the kingdom in shambles, the angel does not leave the Island and so Crowley does not leave the Island.

By now, the other demons are jealous of Crowley’s ability to stay out of Hell. And his superiors are taking more and more cues from Heaven and taking to micromanaging him. It grates. He returns to Hell often in those days to congratulate himself and offer commendations on his work throughout time. Soon the Dukes of Hell, Hastur specifically comes to power and takes over as his direct superior. It crosses Satan’s mind to be amused at their hubris in thinking they can order him about. But Crowley, and didn’t it take eras for Hell to get the paperwork on his new name through, has always been a low level demon of quite a reputation but little power. He spends his time on Earth, not fighting the political power games of Hell. Satan also does not spend any time playing political games but he was crowned by popular demand. No one would dare to challenge him. The last that questioned his power ended up torn to shreds. In the ethereal plane, wounds do not heal quickly. He was still putting himself back together. No, Satan’s position was quite safe. Crowley on the other hand...well. It grated is what it did. But it never crossed his mind to come clean, as it were, about who Crowley was. It was just the price of his freedom.

But he spends quite a bit of time in Hell both as Satan and as Crowley. Filling out paperwork and making reports; giving orders and taking orders. Until it’s 1020 and he runs into the angel again. This time the angel is in the court of Cnut. The angel seems harried trying to keep up with the changes in England.

“Angel,” Crowley greets the angel at the court.

“Crowley,” the angel smiles at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just got back from a trip to Head Office. Absolutely despise it. Cramped as anything. No space to spread your wings.” This was not wholly a lie. The offices where most of the demons worked were in fact cramped and incapable of spreading anything except perhaps disgust. However, where he had just gotten back from was the souls quarters where he had been having quite a fun time with an unnamed Egyptian from several thousand years ago.

“I see,” Aziraphale responds. Crowley notices a bit of sympathy in his tone and represses a smirk.

“And yourself?”

“I’m here trying to spread peace. Still.” The angel admits, wringing his hands.

“Ah, not going well?” Crowley asks sympathetically.

“If you must know I would rather be in the monastery. I’ve taken up calligraphy and I’m falling behind on my work there. But...Heaven,” he sighs, “thinks it’s a waste of my time. But who else is going to write the truth of what happened down?”

“I see. I’m meant to be spreading dissent. Too bad I can’t take care of your job for you and you can go back to your writing.” Crowley says, watching the angel from the side of his eye.

“Oh, Oh would you?” Aziraphale asks.

“It would have to be reciprocated at some point.” Crowley says. “If we came to some sort of an Arrangement. Rules we both agree to.” He offers slyly. “I mean, what head office doesn’t know won’t hurt them. As long as the work gets done.”

Aziraphale eyes him slowly. “I couldn’t possibly do temptations. I...I wouldn’t know where to start.” And it’s not a no.

“It’s easy. Mostly the humans tempt themselves. Just a nudge in one direction or the other. Just like you can’t make them do Good deeds, I can’t make them do Bad deeds. Just a suggestion is all it takes.” Crowley tells him, voice low and hypnotic.

“I still...I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you dine with me and we can talk it over?” Crowley offers gently.

Aziraphale hesitates a moment before nodding his head and gesturing for Crowley to lead the way. Crowley steps out and leads the way silently to a tavern where they take a corner table and several jugs of honey mead.

“First of all,” Crowley begins pouring them both a cup of mead, “We need ground rules. After all, it’s been very nice these past millennia to not worry about you smiting me back down to Hell.”

“Of course, dear fellow. That wouldn’t be very sporting.” Aziraphale says taking a drink of his mead.

“But, of course, if we are going to be...cooperating. We need to just…”

“Just what?”

“Just stay out of the way. No active sabotage. I agree not to go after your proteges anymore and you stay away from my temptations.” Crowley suggests.

“How am I supposed to know your temptations?” Aziraphale asks his voice whisper thin and full of nerves.

“Well a little more cooperation. I tell you. We will need to meet up and see each other periodically. Catch each other up on what we have been doing. What plans you thwarted what temptations I’ve accomplished.” Crowley pours another cup of mead for the angel. “Just little things. Nothing big nothing to change the world.”

“I...I can agree to stay out of the way if you agree the same.” Aziraphale answered nervously, eyes darting around the room and up above.

“Good. Good. I can agree to that as well. Now, to me covering your blessing for you. You want to get back to your monastery and I want to get back to drinking. So, I go do your blessing of the king’s court and you go back to working on your bibles.” Crowley offers and the angel’s eyes light up. “But, you will have to repay the favor in the future.”

“By doing a temptation.”

“By doing a temptation,” Crowley agrees.

“And how will I...do that?” Aziraphale asks.

“The same way you do your guiding. Just suggestions whispered in the right ears.” Crowley tells him. “It’s not so very different. Only the intent changes.”

“I...what if I Fall?” Aziraphale asks.

“You didn’t Fall for eating or drinking. You won’t Fall for this. It isn’t even really a miracle or anything of the sort. It’s just words.” Crowley says.

“I...I suppose. I can do that. Just words.” Aziraphale says quietly and swallows heavily. “And when do you want to do this...switch?”

“When needed. When our Head Offices are asking for a touch too much. They don’t know what’s going on up here, or down here for you. They don’t understand the humans like we do. What it really takes to get someone’s soul.”

“Lend a hand when needed.”

“Exactly.” Crowley says with a friendly smile. Aziraphale hesitates and slowly nods once.

“Then let’s shake on it.” And Crowley offers his hand. “Our Arrangement. Stay out of the way and lend a hand when needed.” Aziraphale still pauses a moment before he reaches out and grabs hold. Their hands clasp together for a moment before Aziraphale lets go as if scalded.

“Right. So, who’s first?” the angel asks nervously.

“Well, I was supposed to be tempting some priests to gluttony and greed. But I would rather be in the kings court drinking wine. And weren’t you supposed to be guiding the king into a peaceful reign?”

“Yes, I was helping the king.” Aziraphale agrees.

“Then let me lend the king a hand and you go back to your monastery. Go back to your bibles and let me unite the kingdom. Truth is,” Crowley’s voice drops imparting a secret. “I kind of miss doing Good deeds. I never meant to Fall, Aziraphale. I just...hung around with the wrong people.” And the lies drip so sweetly from his tongue. “You’re doing me a favor really.” _Angel, you are mine._

“You...really?” Aziraphale asks timidly.

“I promise,” Crowley purrs.

“Very well. I will try to get the monks to indulge greedily. I just have to suggest it right? It’s their choice to follow through.”

“Exactly.” Crowley reassures. And they both toast to an Agreement that will help them both.

Crowley is ecstatic and while he does spend a quick minute with the court of King Cnut, the kingdoms are already united and there isn’t much else for him to do. He drops eagerly down to Hell again as himself to watch for a Falling star. Which does. Not. Come. He waits. And he waits. And he knows the angel wouldn’t renege on their deal but he has. Not. Fallen. In the face of his rage, Beelzebub wisely keeps out of the Palace and drops the paperwork off another day.

Crowley decides to impersonate a monk to find the angel and see what has kept him. He finds him in a monastery working on a bible while the other monks are in fact indulging heavily in drink and stealing money form the villagers for more drink.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley greets sneaking into the library where Aziraphale is the only one working.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs. “Thank Heaven you’ve come.” He said standing and coming over to the window with Crowley to watch over the monastery grounds. “I did what you asked. Only I think I may have gone overboard. I decided to start with the Abbot because he would have to be the one to lead the others and the prior but when I asked why they didn’t spend the money on serfs so the monks could dedicate themselves to other pursuits, they took to it immediately. But you specifically said Gluttony and Greed. So I had them indulge in drink and they got addicted to being drunk. And they needed more and more money to buy more and more wine and mead. And...well. You see what happened.”

“No. No. That’s...that’s fine. Great even. I, uh…” Crowley swallowed and turned to the angel. “King Cnut is joining England with Denmark and Norway and has united the land under a peaceful rule. Most of his army has sailed back.”

“Oh, oh.. good. So, our deal. It’s done?” Aziraphale asks.

“Yes. We just need to keep going like usual. And meet up to keep each other informed of what’s happening in our orders.” Crowley told him still slightly stunned.

“Oh Good. I’d best get back to work.”

“Of course. See you around, angel.” Crowley said and slipped back out the monastery. The angel was still an angel. How was that possible? He was doing temptations. He should be _his_ by now! Damn it! He needed a drink.

The monks at other monasteries proved to be more difficult to sway but the other demons still tried their hands at it. Resulting in many exorcised demons and a whole load of bitterness towards Crowley. Satan thought it rather said more about the other demons inability to blend in as when he tried his hand at another monastery it proved as simple as Aziraphale had made it seem. Definitely the inability to blend in. They were too heavy handed.

They ended up spending quite a bit of time together that century and the next switching out cases once or twice. And every time the angel made it out without Falling. Satan was frustrated. It didn’t make sense. Why did this one angel get infinite chances and infinite Mercy? None of his followers got that. _He_ didn’t get that. And everyone had agreed that he was Her favorite until the Fall. But apparently that distinction went to a no name _Principality_. He took to torturing the souls even harsher than usual every time a plan failed. Until his mind turned to his angel again. As it always did. His Angel. What was his angel up to now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note that the next chapter is coming along but may be later than tomorrow as I am currently trying to get boxes moved into the new house so that it's mostly done when the furniture needs to be taken over hopefully this Saturday. So not a lot of time to write or to post. But it is coming along.


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter. I managed to get it typed out today and wanted to post something even if it's smaller than I would have liked.

It is 1349 and the Black Death has come to England. Aziraphale is spending his time in the sick houses and Crowley, well Crowley is doing the same. For vastly different reasons. He is leading the rats around the countryside like a pied piper spreading the disease even more. It had been entirely too easy to convince the papacy that cats were working with the Devil leading them to mass killings of the animals and the rise of the rodent population and with them the sickness.

But he feels something missing. His angel. He’s gotten used to the presence over the last two centuries. So, taking a break from leading a merry band of rats, he makes his way to London and the angel’s side.

“Aziraphale,” He greets coming up behind the angel in the street.

“Oh, Crowley.” The angel pauses. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came to check in. I’m not getting much tempting done lately with this ghastly plague. I assume you’ve been busy healing the sick?”

“Oh, well...no.” Aziraphale looks down guiltily. “Heaven refuses to allow me to use my miracles like that. I tried and got a visit from Gabriel and a strongly worded lecture about hiding our presence from the humans. I have been permitted to ease their passing however.”

“Sorry to hear it.” drips from his mouth quite without his permission. The angel looks so miserable to be doing nothing of substance to help. Crowley finds himself puzzled by his own reaction. Usually seeing that look causes a smile to bubble to the surface but for some reason, and he had noticed this increasingly frequently, on the angel it did something different. He felt...guilty? Or angry. He was not used to guilty at all. And it made him quite question his own sanity. Guilty for causing an angel distress. Even his angel. And despite not having Fallen in five thousand years, he was still and always _his_ angel. She may have his loyalty but he had the angel’s trust. A demon. And his desire. Speaking of which.

“It’s alright, angel.” Crowley croons and places his hand on the back of the angel’s neck. And rubs gently. Aziraphale tenses at the first touch but quickly relaxes.

“Crowley?”

“It’s alright, Aziraphale. Come away. There’s nothing to be done for them.” And he gently tries to guide the angel out to his own London residence. Aziraphale protests only a moment before consenting to being led.

“You’ve been working so hard lately angel. Take a break and relax for a little while.” Crowley encourages, his voice sweet and his hand still guiding the angel by the back of his neck. He feels the urge to push. Shove the angel down to his knees before him where he belongs. But he resists. This angel trusts him. This angel doesn’t even know who he is talking to. But the urge to break him is strong and Sloth is something he’s been working on getting the angel to indulge in for two centuries, slacking off at work here and there, and now well...he is exhausted. He deserves a rest.

Getting to his flat is easy and getting his angel to come inside is even easier. His angel is about dead on his feet. Worn from so many miracles and the emotional turmoil of doing what he thinks is right versus what Heaven tells him to be doing.

Celestial beings don’t need rest or sleep but Crowley had found that it was quite a nice thing to slip into, unconsciousness that is. And guiding the angel down to the bed he has solely for that purpose is easy. Though once laying down, his angel’s eyes open wide.

“Crowley?”

“Hush, angel,” he croons softly. His hands playing on the angel’s chest. “Just relax. I can make this good for you. Just get some rest. You’ve been working so hard with no breaks. You deserve this.”

“Crowley. I’ve told you before I can’t.” Aziraphale protests trying to stand up.

So Crowley does roll his eyes and sits down on the bed at his waist. “Angel, I meant get some sleep. But if you would rather we…”

“No,” Aziraphale interrupts. And then blushes darkly. “I mean.”

“You mean you don’t want to Fall.” Crowley agrees. “But you are still so tired, angel. Just a little sleep. Just until morning. I’ll stay and wake you.”

“I...Crowley.” And the angel’s voice is thick with emotion and tears spring to his eyes. Angel’s tears are holy and Crowley doesn’t want to risk discorporation but something in him makes him reach out. His angel clutches at his hand and his tears splash against his skin. It stings but there is no burning pain of total annihilation. As his angel continues to cry, Crowley slowly pushes him back to lay down and curls around him like a serpent. The sun has moved across the room as the angel cries years of pent up emotion out. Emotion for what Crowley doesn’t know but soon enough the tears stop and the angel turns into face him and breathes slowly and falls asleep.

It strikes him then that the angel, his angel, the one that trusts him so easily does in fact love him in a way. Even worse is the realization that he loves the angel. In whatever way a demon can love, in a possessive, clawing, _owning_ sort of love. The realization keeps him up the whole afternoon and into the night and by the time the sun is beginning to claw its way over the horizon, he has come to terms with it. Mostly. It frustrates him, annoys him, angers him, but he realizes he can’t stop feeling what he does for the angel. A desire to claim and possess and own. A desire to see him smile again at him. A desire to bring him down and then keep him safe. If he Fell, well then, Satan could protect him. No more strongly worded letters from Head Office. No more fear of what will happen if they find out about the Arrangement. No more fear of what will happen if… well if he does all those things to him that he has been fantasizing about since… well since Egypt, truthfully.

Fear, he is beginning to realize, is no state to live in. He may enjoy and thrive in inducing fear in his demons, in the humans, in the angels, but not in _his_ angel. His chest tightens at the thought of what his angel will say if he ever finds out who exactly he is. No, best to keep it a secret forever. Or at least until the end of days. It’s coming up, still plenty of time but the demons are growing stronger again. Their wounds healing and the souls keep coming in. Even with the Mercy shown to the humans. They keep coming in. Their numbers may have dropped for a time but humans are so easy to corrupt they do it themselves.

His angel stirs next to him and he tenses. He is Satan; he has never doubted himself. He was God’s favored and then King of Hell. He does not question his own actions. But he panics for a moment about whether to let go of the angel and wait for him to wake from the other side of the room. He decides to stay where he is, as teasing his angel is still his favorite pastime even if it’s just as teasing for himself now too.

“Crowley,” his angel sighs, turning his head to burrow deeper into his neck for a moment before his eyes pop open and he backs away.

Crowley’s arms around him tighten for a moment before falling away and moving to stand up. “Angel,” he clears his throat. “How did you sleep? Enjoy it?” He keeps his eyes averted for a moment before steeling himself to look his angel in his eyes.

All he sees is confusion and a hint of hurt.

“I...did. Crowley,” The angel takes a breath to steel himself. “I am so sorry for...weeping all over you yesterday. It was just yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, angel. It was just yesterday.” Crowley admits pausing before reaching out a hand to help the angel out of the bed. “How do you feel today? Rested?”

“Yes, though I do not think it is something I will indulge in on my own except in extenuating circumstances.” Aziraphale admits taking his offered hand but staying put.

“I see. Well, if you ever need a hand let me know. I’m very good at...lending a hand.” He says and brings the angel’s hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss against the knuckles.

“I...Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers breathlessly staring up at him.

“Angel,” Crowley whispers back just as breathlessly gaze trapped in the angel’s pale grey-blue eyes. _Oh, angel, what have you done to me?_ _I will make you mine one day if it kills you. She doesn’t get to keep you all to herself._

Aziraphale trembles a moment before tearing his eyes away and standing up from the mattress.

Crowley lets the hand in his grasp drop slowly to the angel’s side. And steps in close body a hair's breadth away from Aziraphale’s. His hand comes up as if to cup the angel’s cheek so gently the touch never makes it there. “Aziraphale,” the word an exhale of breath more than a word with separate syllables.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs and it is a plea and a protest all in one.

Crowley snatches back his hand as if scalded and steps away. Aziraphale watches him go with hurt and sorrow in his visage.

Crowley takes a deep breath and turns away thankful for the glasses he had taken to wearing to hide his hatred of the humans after their souls were given a second chance. “You should get back to tending your sick.” He says instead of pushing. Aziraphale may be in a vulnerable state but he is beginning to suspect he may be as well.

“Crowley,” his angel sighs. “See you...around?”

Crowley nods once and listens as Aziraphale leaves the flat. Crowley closes his eyes and blesses under his breath. She is laughing at him. He knows it. He hasn’t tried speaking to Her since his Fall but he still feels compelled to roll his eyes to Heaven and ask, “Is this fun for you?” He swallows heavily and resolves to not seek the angel out again. Instead he takes his swarm of rats back out of the city as an early Christmas gift. Not that anyone notices. The plague has run its course and Satan is back in Hell.

He spends the next century in the souls quarters of Hell and Beelzebub does not ask why. Xe does comment that they haven’t heard from Crowley since he took responsibility for the Black Death. And Satan sends himself a commendation.

He rejoins the humans sometime in the late 1400’s and as the angel is still in England, he resolves to spend some time on the mainland. In the court of Spain specifically. Or he would have been in the court if he weren’t still trying to drink away his revelation. Torturing the souls of the damned hadn’t helped and alcohol wasn’t helping. Not even whispering into the ear of Ferdinand and Isabella that what God really hates are heretics. And then he saw what they did with it and got roaring drunk in Madrid for 4 months straight. Creativity. Humans and their creativity. His angel is the one to find him this time, drunk off his ass and mumbling incoherent curses at God.

“Crowley,” his angel sighs and picks him up from the table he is leaning over. “What have you done to yourself this time?”

“They jus- keep hur-in’ ea- o’er. Di’n e’en ssssay t’,” Crowley slurs drunkenly as the angel picks him bodily off the floor and takes him up to a room above the tavern, nodding to the barkeep.

“Come along, my dear. You need to sober up. Don’t make me do it for you. It will not be pleasant.” Aziraphale says sternly, placing him on the bed.

Crowley inhales deeply and forgets to breathe out again for several heartbeats. He squints at the angel above him for a moment before sighing and nodding. Suddenly, with a groan of discontent, he is depressingly sober. “What do you want, Aziraphale?” He asks testily from his prone position on the bed.

“You missed our mid-century meeting. You remember? Meet up, catch up on plans for the century, fill out our reports for the last one. You missed it.” Aziraphale answers just as testily. “What have you been up to over here?”

“Drinking, obviously. What does it even matter to you anyways? I’m a fucking demon.” Crowley asks. Aziraphale recoils at the venom in his tone and Crowley almost feels happy. Until the look on his angel’s face registers. Pain. He hurt him.

“My dear, is that all you think of yourself?”

“It’s true. She’ll tell you.”

“You said you just hung around with the wrong people.” Aziraphale whispers hurt.

“And apparently that was enough for Her. She doesn’t love me anymore, angel. No one does. They can’t. Unlovable, it's in the job description just like unforgivable.” Crowley hisses and no he is not crying. The alcohol is just making his eyes water.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly, hands fluttering at his sides waiting for permission to come together with Crowley’s.

“Leave it, angel.” Crowley sighs. “Give me a day and we can meet up for our meeting.”

“Forget about the meeting, Crowley. I was worried. I thought Hell had found out about our...about you doing good deeds for me.” Aziraphale frets.

“They didn’t. Although I’m certainly going to be claiming this Inquisition. Probably get another commendation,” He giggles at the inside joke and Aziraphale smiles in confusion. Crowley lays back on the bed and stretches languidly. “So you missed me?”

“I...I did.” Aziraphale says quietly.

“Join me, angel?” Crowley asks, reaching a hand out to him.

“Crowley, we can’t.”

“Just to sleep, angel. I’m tired. These humans wear me out.” He cajoles.

“Crowley, I need to fill out my reports.” Aziraphale says but he isn’t leaving and Crowley counts that as a win.

“Fill them out tomorrow. Sleep with me tonight.” Crowley whispers his head tilting down and looking up at his angel from under his lashes, coquettishly. His hand still reaching, offering to his angel.

Aziraphale looks down at the offered hand and back up to Crowley’s pouting face.

“Angel, you won’t Fall to sleep with me. Just to sleep with me.” The words are more thought than words and Aziraphale does not seem to respond before swallowing loudly and gently taking Crowley’s hand. Crowley tightens his hold on his angel’s hand before gently pulling him into the bed and with a snap locking the door. The room cut off from the rest of the world.

Aziraphale gently kneels on the bed before slipping down to lay next to Crowley, tense and hands twisting nervously. Crowley’s hands find their way to cover his angel’s nervous fidgeting on his stomach. He gently wraps his arms around the tense angel and Aziraphale turns to tuck his head under Crowley’s chin. Crowley sighs as he closes his eyes and is soon dropping off to sleep.

The morning brings a warm bed and an angel sleeping peacefully in his arms. It would be so easy, he thinks, to take what he wants from this angel. But if he’s going to have a hope of making him Fall he has to fight the urge to bruise and break. And it wouldn’t do to mar the perfect milky skin of his wrists with infernal iron or to see tears in those too-blue eyes. Not again. Crowley spends the early morning before the sun rises running his fingertips gently over the angel’s face mapping his features by touch and by sight. Memorizing the feel of him in his arms. When the angel finally stirs as the rooster crows outside the tavern, Aziraphale stretches out before ever opening his eyes. When he does it is to see Crowley’s face hovering above him blank of emotion but studying him intently.

“Crowley,” He whispers, voice sleep roughened.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley asks gently.

“Are you really going to tell them you invented the Inquisition?” his angel asks quiet and hesitating.

“It will look good on my report.” Crowley answers quietly.

“But you didn’t, did you?”

“Humans have a wonderful way of corrupting themselves, Aziraphale. I’ve been drunk out of my mind for the last, what month is it?” He asks.

“March.”

“I’ve been a drunken mess for 4 months, Aziraphale.” Crowley tells him lowly, afraid to raise his voice and break the moment.

“I see.” Aziraphale says gently.

Crowley’s hand finds Aziraphale’s and he brings it up to kiss each fingertip gently. Running his lips over the palm and nuzzling at the wrist.

“Should we have that meeting now?” Crowley asks lowly.

Aziraphale swallows hard and nods. “I think that would be wise.” He adds, slightly strangled.

Crowley hums low in his throat. “You already know what I’ve been claiming. But what have you been up to?”

“I was helping Henry the fifth in France.” Aziraphale answers, not tearing his gaze away from the way Crowley is gently caressing his hand.

“That was you? At Agincourt?” Crowley smiles.

“Yes. Partly. I just gave them a little blessing. Crowley,” His voice cracks.

Crowley pauses his ministrations to meet Aziraphale's wide eyes. His eyes widen as well as if just realizing what he has been doing. He gently let’s go of his angel’s hand and sits up in the bed. “That’s probably enough to finish our reports.” He says turning to look at the opposite wall and ignoring Aziraphale’s soft call of his name.

Aziraphale is silent for a time before the bed shifts and the door opens. “You’re more than just a demon to me, Crowley. But we can’t. They would destroy you.” Aziraphale says lowly as he leaves the room and the door closes once more.

Crowley stays sitting for a time before he stands and taking the pitcher of water in his hand, throws it at the closed door where it shatters. “You can’t keep him forever,” He growls to the empty room. “He will be mine.”


	5. Patrons of the Arts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley may have come to a revelation about himself and his angel. But what's he plan to do about it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short one again today. My aunt ran me ragged today and I haven't had much chance to write. But I managed to get a bit written. I wish it were longer for you but next chapter should be coming along nicely. I have the whole day free to write and edit so expect it tomorrow night.

Crowley decides he has seen enough of Spain and travels instead back to Italy, the wine there being better in his extensive opinion. There he throws himself into the arts acting as muses in the new art forms. He befriends a man named Leonardo. And the angel has followed him. He must have because they meet again in Leonardo’s studio.

“Angel,” Crowley sighs. “What are you doing here?” He is not quite drunk but tipsy enough.

“I’m here blessing the artists. Mostly,” is said under his breath. “What about you?” Aziraphale asks timidly.

“Being a muse.” Crowley gestures expansively. “Every good artist has one.” He adds as Aziraphale looks around the area. There are half finished paintings and sketches everywhere. Crowley notes Aziraphale’s gaze stuck to several of himself in the nude. Tastefully done but done nonetheless.

“I see. And how have you been?” His angel asks, tearing his gaze away from one particularly detailed study of his prone form.

“Well, I’ve been well.” Crowley admits taking a few steps towards him.

“Still drinking, I see.” his angel is blushing prettily and not looking at him.

“No plans to stop. Join me?” Crowley asks quietly taking another step into his angel’s space his hands not quite touching Aziraphale’s flesh. Trying to get his angel to look at him, really look at him.

Aziraphale finally raises his eyes to meet Crowley’s shaded ones. “I…” he trails off.

That is when Leonardo interrupts them by clearing his throat. Aziraphale jumps back at being caught and Crowley sighs looking over to Leonardo who has a guilty expression on his face.

“I am sorry, my friend. But I was looking for my sketch,” Leonardo gestures to the sketch that Aziraphale had such trouble tearing his gaze from.

“It is alright, Leonardo. You did not interrupt anything of import.” Crowley says handing over the sketch.

“Right,” Aziraphale agrees a bit too cheerfully to be convincing.

Leonardo hums skeptically and leaves them alone again.

“He won’t tell anyone.” Crowley reassures. “He’s been accused of sodomy himself. No one showed up to testify against him several years ago and I’ve been keeping him out of trouble for a couple months now.” Crowley admits quietly. Sodomy may not be a sin to Her but the Lust he can inspire certainly is. Although, Leonardo does not fall so easily into Lust. Crowley hasn’t even had sex with the man. He thinks that says something about him but doesn’t like what it implies.

“I see.” Aziraphale says and Crowley is quite sure he doesn’t see what he thinks he does.

“Angel, I haven’t fucked him.” Crowley admonishes and his angel cringes at the harsh wording.

“No need to be crude, dear boy.” Aziraphale protests but he seems slightly happier and Crowley smiles a friendly smile.

“I can be crude with you if you’d let me.” Crowley tells him seriously. Aziraphale says nothing but sighs deeply. “But I understand. You don’t want to let Her down.”

“It’s not...that’s not why I haven’t...Crowley.” Aziraphale begins his thought several times before sighing again. “That’s no why we can’t. If Heaven found out. Or Hell. They would destroy you. I can’t let that happen.”

“No one would find out, Angel. We can be careful.” Crowley says softly. _Why are you so damn selfless? No angel is as perfect as you._ Crowley thinks bitterly, glad that his eyes are still hidden behind a pair of dark glasses. _You are supposed to be mine by now._ Crowley averts his angry gaze from the angel to toy with one of Leonardo’s sketches.

“You can’t possibly make that promise, Crowley.” Aziraphale says equally as soft. Not taking a step towards Crowley despite the way his body seems to gravitate towards the demon.

“What, then, do you want, Aziraphale? Why did you follow me?” Crowley asks gently, he is Satan this tenderness is below him. He should take what he wants. But that is no way to make this angel Fall. And it is still just a game, isn’t it? He doesn’t know the answer to that. And it scares him a moment, the uncertainty.

“I know the Spanish Inquisition is still going strong. I wanted to be sure you were handling it...better than, well,” he clears his throat. “Better.”

“I’m not insensate with drink if that’s what you are asking. I’m fine. Humans are always going and doing horrible things to each other. What does that have to do with me? Not like it’s my fault.” And Crowley doesn’t even register the lies falling from his mouth. His mind more distracted with watching Aziraphale in the mirrored surface set before him. He wants. Oh does he want. He wants this angel in every way conceivable. On his back or on his knees. He wants to take him and break him and bruise him but more than all of that he wants to taste him. He finds the angel’s lips in the mirror and wonders what it would taste like to kiss him. Like Heaven, he’s sure. This angel who can do no wrong in Her eyes.

“It’s not your fault. You can’t make them do bad things any more than I can make them do good ones. And even you weren’t trying to tempt anyone into this. You never have.” Crowley feels a vice clawing at his throat hearing his angel’s words.

“Yeah. Never do, me.” He agrees. “Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“Why don’t I commission something for us from Leonardo. We can sit for a portrait from him.” Crowley turns around as he says this and smiles disarmingly. “One for you and one for me.”

“I,” Aziraphale pauses taken aback. “I don’t see why not.”

“Good. I’ll let him know.” And he leaves the room. They do end up sitting for a portrait and if he takes the copy of Aziraphale and the angel takes the copy of Crowley. Well, they both have other things to hide form Head Office more than that.

By the next time they meet they have both quite decided to make the most of their time together. They both have made their home in London for many years and it belongs to the both of them. They run in similar and vastly different circles. Crowley in the court and the seedy underbelly of the city that is present in any city no matter the size but that has been growing in London for literal centuries, deeply ingrained in the very fabric of the city. Aziraphale has taken up both in the courts but also with the artists, namely a playwright named Shakespeare. And while it is not uncommon to find the two of them at the same party, they haven’t intentionally met to deal with their Arrangement until Crowley receives a missive from his angel at his flat. It lists a day, a time, and a play.

Finding himself at the Globe at the specified time, Crowley anticipates a struggle to fight his way to the angel’s side as he has arrived late, the play already well underway. The crowd consists of six drowsy looking individuals, even the seating above is empty.

“I thought you said we’d be inconspicuous here. Blend into the crowds.” He says walking up behind his angel. _The_ angel. _His angel._

“Well, that was the idea. Grape?” Aziraphale offers and it takes all his willpower to not smirk at the poor thing remembering the first time he had tried a grape. That night had featured heavily in his fantasies and the sounds the angel made, exquisite. But the angel has learned to stop his moans of appreciation or at least to quiet them. _Angel, how have you not become one of mine yet?_

Instead he says, “Ah, hang on. It’s not one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, is it?” He groans in frustration, “No wonder nobody’s here.” He protests mostly for effect. While he enjoys the death inherent in so many of the tragedies, he knows the populace enjoys the comedies.

“Shh. It’s him.” Aziraphale says gesturing to the man walking up to them.

“Prithee, gentles. Might I request a small favour?” He asks politely. “Could you, in your role as the Audience, give us more to work with?” He sounds just a touch desperate.

“You mean, like when the ghost of his father came on, and I shouted, ‘He’s behind you!’” Aziraphale exclaims. And Crowley watches him with his eyes wide behind his glasses. And hands clasped behind him. His angel, always a soft spot for the writers and artists.

“Just so. That was jolly helpful. Made everyone on stage feel appreciated. A bit more of that.” Shakespeare asks of them and Crowley smiles sarcastically at him before the man turns to the stage and addressing the actor there tells him, “Good Master Burbage, please, speak the lines trippingly.”

“I am wasting my time up here,” The actor tells him irritated.

“No,” his angel assures, “You’re very good. I love all the, the talking.” He gestures with his hand to encompass the whole stage.

“And what does your friend think?” the actor asks and it’s the first time someone has mistaken them for friends.

“He’s not my friend, We’ve never met before. We don’t know each other.”

And, _angel if words were thorns you would have killed me._ Crowley thinks.

Instead he says, “I think you should get on with the play.”

And so after pausing a moment he does asking, “To be – or not to be- that is the question…”

And his angel, the dunce shouts back, “To be! Not to be! Come on Hamlet! Buck up!” But apparently it was the right thing to do as the actor gives a big thumbs up before continuing his speech. “He’s very good, isn’t he?” He asks softer just for Crowley to hear.

“Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety,” Crowley responds having seen this particular actor perform countless times before while seated across from his angel. The only way in which Aziraphale has consented to socialize lately. Crowley had a nagging suspicion Head Office may have been involved but his angel was not saying.

“What do you want?” Aziraphale asks quietly.

“Why ever would you insinuate that I might possibly want something?” Crowley asks smirking just a bit.

“You are up to no good.”

“Obviously. And you are up to good, I take it? Lots of good deeds?” Crowley asks circling his angel, pulled into the orbit of him, like the moon or binary stars that he had hung in the night sky.

“No rest for the, well, good. I have to be in Edinburgh by the end of the week. A couple of blessings to do, and a minor miracle to perform. Apparently, I have to ride a horse to get there. They’ve cut off my transportation miracles.”

Crowley cringes _I would never cut off you miracles, angel_. “Hard on the buttocks, horses. Major design flaw, if you ask me.” They hadn’t but Uriel never did like to ask for help. “I’m always expected to ride those big black jobs. With flashing eyes. Oddly enough, _I’m_ meant to be heading to Edinburgh too this week. Tempting a clan leader to steal some cattle.”

“Doesn’t seem like hard work,” Aziraphale says coyly.

“That was why I thought we should…” he shrugs one shoulder, “well, bit of a waste of effort. Both of us going all the way to Scotland.”

“You cannot actually be suggesting what I infer you are implying.” Aziraphale starts strong and slows down to a whisper.

“Which is?” Crowley asks. _Come on, angel. What did they tell you this time?_

“That just one of us goes to Edinburgh and does...both. The blessing and the tempting.” his angel says lowly.

“We’ve done it before. Dozens of times now. The Arrangement.” He reminds.

“Don’t say that.” His angel protests.

“Our respective Head Offices don’t actually care how things get done. They just want to know they can cross it off the list.” And it’s been centuries since he had to work this hard for an exchange. Gabriel the wanker had something to do with this. He can feel it.

“If Hell found out, they wouldn’t just be angry. They’d destroy you.” And it’s cute, egh, how the angel worries for him but they wouldn’t dare.

Instead of saying so, Crowley just responds with his usual. “Nobody ever has to know. Toss you for Edinburgh.”He says pulling a coin from between his fingers with a miracle. Aziraphale is visibly struggling for a moment and Crowley waits patiently. He can be patient. 5,601 years of patience boiled down to this moment.

Finally, his angel gives a stilted nod. “Fine. Heads.”

Crowley tosses the coin and catches it on the back of his hand. “Tails. I’m afraid. You’re going to Scotland.

Their business nearly concluded they both catch Shakespeare’s observation. “It’d take a miracle for anyone to come and see _Hamlet_.”

His angel turns to him with such a beatific, hopeful look on his face. _No. No. No, don’t you dare._ “Yeah. All right. I’ll do that one. My treat.” He hears himself say.

“Oh really?” and his angel’s smile is blinding.

“I still prefer the funny ones.” Crowley protests as he saunters away back out of the theater.

He can’t believe he agreed to this. Just for a smile and a hopeful look. But _Hamlet_ is still playing the following week when Aziraphale returns and sitting across the Globe theater from his angel, watching him so enthralled with the actors, he can’t even regret it. The angel is at the theater again the next night but this time, Crowley is standing behind him in the seating. His hands find their way around his angel’s waist. And Aziraphale shivers but doesn’t move away. His hands stay wandering his angel’s sides throughout the hours long play and when it ends, Aziraphale’s hands find his and squeeze his fingers gently before he turns around in his grasp and smiles beautifully up at him. And it takes all of his will power to not grab at his angel and pull him flush with his own body and cover his lips with his own. To bite and suck his mark into that lovely pale flesh. To drive him to his knees and make him worship at his feet. His hands though do clench in Aziraphale’s clothes before he lets go and turns away. Aziraphale makes a questioning noise but Crowley ignores it. Ignores it or risks breaking the angel in front of him. Taking what he wants even by force will not make this angel his. He has to choose it himself. And so he walks away.

Reaching his flat, he tears off his glasses once behind closed doors and nearly crushes them in his fist before tossing them down on the table. “Why did you make him so perfect? Why won’t you let him Fall? I want him for mine.” He growls at the ceiling. And he thinks perhaps that is why he hasn’t Fallen. She won’t ever give him what he wants. Even a single angel. “He weakens every day; every day around me is another day closer to his Fall. You can’t hold onto him forever, someday, someday he will do something that not even your newest favorite can be forgiven for. And I will be there to catch him when you finally let go.”

He flops onto the bed and sees his angel’s confused look in his mind wondering why he suddenly left him standing forlorn in a crowded theater. He blesses. And taking himself in hand allows his mind to wonder what would have happened if he had given in and kissed that pathetic look off his angel’s face. He falls asleep and in the morning he refuses to see another showing of Hamlet.


	6. Rescues and Repayments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley rescues his angel and sees how his angel repays him.

Just because he refuses to see another showing of _Hamlet_ does not mean that he isn’t keeping tabs on his angel and the next time they meet eyes at a party, Crowley looks away first. He isn’t ashamed of his actions, or his feelings, or truthfully anything. But the look of pained confusion on his angel’s face sets something off in him. It’s a look he knows he would wear if Crowley were to take what he wants so desperately. And it pains Crowley to see it there with the true cause of his betrayal still unknown.

They speak briefly through the years and soon enough, Crowley is visiting in France. The unrest in the populace has called to him with greedy fingers. At first he had spent time in the Court of France tempting the royals and Aristocrats to excess. It was all for naught as they had done quite well doing so by themselves. So he decided to rally up a bit of discontent in the lower classes. It worked surprisingly well and soon enough he was watching the aristocrats heads roll. It was so much fun and took him back to the days of the coliseum. Watching humans cheer for death en masse. But when he felt the presence of his angel growing closer he didn’t pay much mind. Until the rumors of an Englishman being put in the jail to wait for execution. Then he sat up, literally as he had been lounging in a tavern, and paid attention.

It is the work of a simple miracle, demonic or otherwise, to arrive in the jail cell that holds his angel and to freeze time around them. Well, freezing time may not be simple for other demons but they didn’t follow him simply because of his charisma in Heaven but the power he had wielded and still did.

“Animals,” he hears his angel call the humans. Finally his angel is getting it. They are animals meant for slaughter.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, angel. Only humans do that.” He says instead. Clever human people with their clever machines and creativity.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale exhales smiling brilliantly and turning to face him. “Oh good Lord…” his smile drops and Crowley feels as much as sees his eyes roving his body.

“What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening a bookshop.” He asks genuinely confused. He left the angel in England searching for the perfect place to purchase a shop. He was meant to be with the writers not in a jail cell.

“I was.” Aziraphale says. “I got peckish.” He admits sullenly.

“Peckish?” Crowley asks, stunned.

“If you must know, it was the crêpes. You can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris. And the brioche…” He admits as an afterthought.

“So you just popped across the Channel during a revolution, because you wanted something to nibble? Dressed like that?” _Angel. You should have said something I can give you something to nibble._ He doesn’t say. But he considers making his angel flush with it. The manacles around his wrists already doing something to him and causing his trousers to tighten.

“I have standards.” his angel protests. “I had heard they were getting a bit carried away here but…”

Crowley feels like laughing but refrains. “This is not getting ‘carried away’. This is cutting off lots of people’s heads very efficiently with a big head cutting machine. Why didn’t you just perform another miracle and go home?”

“I was reprimanded last month. They said I’d performed too many frivolous miracles. I got a strongly worded note from Gabriel.” Aziraphale admits, not quite scared but certainly upset.

“You were lucky I was in the area.” Crowley croons standing up from where he had been lounging next to the bars. And coming to circle his angel. Orbiting around and around.

“I suppose I am,” his angel says coyly, not bothering to keep him in his sights. “Why are you here?”

Crowley, lets lies drip from his teeth as sweet as honey. A partial lie at least. “My lot sent me a commendation for outstanding job performance. So I thought I should find out what they were commending me for.” He is going to give himself a commendation after all. Not wholly a lie.

“So all this is your demonic work? I should have known!” And they may not have been as close this last century since Crowley ran away from _Hamlet_ but the doubt stings. It means he is getting closer to Heaven again. Or at least that’s what Crowley tells himself.

“Nah. Humans thought it all up themselves. Nothing to do with me.” His angel breathes a sigh of relief then tenses again as Crowley’s hands come up to his shoulders and run down his arms. Crowley steps up flush behind him and buries his face in the crook of his angel’s neck. “Like this, they couldn’t possibly say you agreed. Chained up as you are. Let me?” Crowley asks softly into Aziraphale’s ear.

Aziraphale swallows heavily but his head is tilting to give Crowley more room for his lips grazing the side of his neck. “I...Crowley,” he pants out.

And Crowley is pushing him up against the wall. The angel’s hands braced in front of him. Aziraphale gives a gasp of startled surprise but does not protest. Crowley’s hands begin to rove his sides and under his great ridiculous coat coming to rest on his soft stomach. Toying with the buttons of his waistcoat. Aziraphale is breathing heavily but he is not saying no. Worse to Crowley’s ears he is not saying yes. If this is going to have any hope of working, to fell this too perfect angel he has to want it. He has to say he wants it.

“Angel,” Crowley’s forked tongue flicks against his angel’s ear as he breathes into it. “What do you want? Tell me.” He is not begging. He is Satan and he does not beg an angel of the Lord for anything. He can take what he wants at any time. But this angel. He can’t take what he really wants. This angel has to choose it. Choose to Fall.

“Crowley, please.” And he goes silent.

Crowley gives a growl of frustration and pushes himself away from the angel. With a snap the manacles are on the ground, and the angel is still and silent except for his heavy panting. Crowley steps forward not as roughly as he had before and takes his angel’s hands in his own to turn him around.

Aziraphale’s eyes are wide open and the iris nearly black. His angel swallows heavily and blinks. His eyes rove over Crowley and come to rest on their joined hands where Crowley is gently rubbing at where the manacles had been chafing.

“I won’t until you can ask me for what you want.” Crowley tells him lowly, watching his hands as well. “Do you understand?” He asks gently.

Aziraphale doesn’t answer except to nod silently. “I suppose I should say thank you. For the rescue.”

“Don’t say that. If my people hear I rescued an angel, I will be the one in trouble. And my lot do not send rude notes. They send Hastur. Or Ligur. If you’re lucky.” Crowley says softly, hands still gently rubbing at his angel’s wrists.

“Well, anyway, I’m very grateful.” his voice is very soft. “What about if I buy you lunch?” He asks, finally looking up to meet Crowley’s eyes through his glasses.

“Looking like that,” Crowley murmurs, raising the wrists in his grasp to kiss gently at the reddened flesh.

Aziraphale gives a quiet sigh and pulling his one hand free gestures vaguely up and down his body and transfers into the executioner’s outfit who had been frozen in place this whole time. “Barely counts as a miracle really,” he murmurs as Crowley steps away. And the room comes back to life and the two guards come to escort the now finely dressed executioner to his death.

“Dressed like that he’s asking for trouble,” Crowley nearly smirks. “So what’s for lunch?”

“What would you say to some crêpes?” his angel asks and Crowley does smile then and nods. He steps out of the way to allow Aziraphale to exit the cell before him and together they make their way into Paris proper and to crêpes.

It is after lunch that the dilemma comes in. Crowley is supposed to be staying and making the mess last as long as possible but the initial temptations had taken hold and he had been quite without much to do recently, the humans blood thirst taking hold far stronger than any of his temptations could. However, he does need to see his angel home safely. He apparently has a penchant for getting into trouble.

The choice is made for him when his angel turns to him and says, “I suppose I should be getting back to London. Will you be long away?”

“I can leave now. If you are ready. I just came to see what the fuss was about.” He admits.

“Oh, oh really. Then let’s head back. I want to get into my own clothes again.” Aziraphale gives a little wiggle of excitement. And Crowley pauses a moment to snap his fingers and have a bundle of clothes in his hand which he hands over.

“Best wait til you are back in London to change again.” He says and his angel gives a blinding smile.

“Oh, thank you, dear boy.” Aziraphale says eagerly. “Would...would you mind doing the honors? Only, they watch my transportation miracles even more closely than the frivolous ones.” He admits softly.

“Of course, angel.” And with a snap they are outside of Crowley’s current flat. The London traffic passes by them undisturbed by their sudden appearance.

“Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale sighs out and looking quickly away and then back. “I wish I could… say… But it could destroy you. I couldn’t live with myself if they did that. Stealing an angel from Heaven. They would go after you.”

“I can handle myself, angel. No need to do me any favors.” he protests quietly. Protect? Him? That’s a laugh. Angel is the one who needs protecting. But he can hardly tell him why that is the truth. So he settles for a disappointed look and turns to enter his flat.

“I still can’t risk it, Crowley.” Aziraphale says softly and when Crowley turns around the angel is already gone off down the street.

It’s less than a decade later that his angel has bought a shop front. Or rather a whole building. A beautiful shop front with two stories. His angel has been talking about nothing else for over a year and so he knows the exact date that it is to open. He panics a little with how to go about it but he is meant to be wooing the angel into allowing himself to Fall and so he settles for flowers and the chocolates that the angel loves from the little shop near the Palace.

He picks the flowers diligently. Camellia’s of red and pink, White Chrysanthemum, a daffodil. All stolen from the royal gardens. Not that they need to know that. So that the day before the shop opens Crowley finds himself heading to the new storefront. Not eager per se but desperate to get this over with. These flowers, painstakingly planned, must be enough to get him to consent to Fall. Only when he reaches the shop and looks into the window there are people in there. He knows for a fact that the store is opening tomorrow. It’s why he chose to visit today, he could talk with his angel without worrying about shoppers pulling him away.

So he meets Aziraphale’s eyes and smiles. But that presence, it feels familiar. Holy. And then he hears his angel’s voice drifting through the open door.

“But only I can properly thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley.” Crowley raises his box of chocolates and mouths at his angel what they are. He will definitely get rid of whomever this is now.

“I do not doubt,” Crowley knew that voice. It was Gabriel the pompous fuck. “that whoever replaces you will be as good an enemy to Crowley as you are. Michael, perhaps.” They want to replace his angel. With _Michael_. He does not have to fake the horrified look on his face.

“Michael?” he mouths at his angel. “Michael’s a wanker!”

“Crowley’s been down here just as long as I have.” his angel says, eyes darting between Crowley and the two angel’s in front of him. “And he’s wily, and cunning and brilliant and oh…”

“It almost sounds like you like him.” Gabriel accuses incredulously.

“I loathe him.” Aziraphale answers immediately. “And, despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent...which he isn’t because he’s a demon and I cannot respect a demon. O-Or like one.” Aziraphale protests. His gaze still darting every so often to Crowley on the street. But between one glance and the next, Crowley is gone.

Crowley is off to the tailor that he remembers Gabriel frequents. He has to act quickly and make them view his angel as indispensable. Gabriel was wearing outdated clothing. He’s going to be at the tailor’s to get a new outfit. He’s going to be near that window behind the curtain. And so Crowley works quickly to get set up. A mannequin, a bolt of black cloth and himself. Hopefully all those nights at the Globe taught him something.

And there is Gabriel right on cue.

“Are you certain that we are unobserved, oh monstrous creature from the bowels of Hell?” He asks the mannequin.

“No one is listening, oh demon Crowley.” Crowley answers himself affecting a deep and rumbling growl.

“Curses. If only I could understand why my evil plans are always so brilliantly thwarted. It’s as if the forces of Heaven have a champion here on Earth who thwarts me...thwartingly…” He is Satan and he is reduced to Pantomime to keep his angel. And his brilliant speeches have flown out the window in his stress.

“Why, Mister Crowley, you must not be downcast. I hear news that will bring joy to you and all the powers of Hell. They do say as how the angel Aziraphale, your nemesis, is being sent back to Heaven.” Gabriel will be the first to die when Satan enacts his hostile takeover of Heaven.

“Can this be true? I was going to swallow Holy Water in my despair at once more being beaten by the angel Aziraphale. But such excellent news! Only Aziraphale knows my ways well enough to…”

“Thwart them?” He asks himself in his Hellish voice.

“Exactly. Now let us repair to an evil drinking den, and drink to the success of evil on this Earth, thanks to Heaven’s foolishness.”

And there go the angels. He feels them running away quite quickly as he and the mannequin disappear back into the shops doorway. “You can’t take him from me that easily.” He growls under his breath to the Heavens.

He waits for another hour before grabbing his miraculously still fresh bouquet and box of delicious chocolates and makes his way back to his angel’s shop.

This time when he reaches the shop there are no other Heavenly forces present. Just his angel. Just his _still_ angel. He scowls at the thought of what a fool he made of himself to keep this angel nearby. He schools his expression though and saunters into the store for what is likely only the first time of many. “Angel,” He greets coming up behind the angel stocking the shelves with boxes upon boxes of books.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathes and turns around smiling.

Crowley smiles back friendly and disarming. _You have no idea what I had to do to keep you, angel._ His smile falters a bit at the thing around Aziraphale’s neck.

“What is that?” he asks, pointing to the new addition.

“Oh, this?” Aziraphale says taking it from around his neck. “It’s a medal. For 6000 years of devotion. I think they lost count somewhere it’s only been 5, 800 years. But I suppose it’s close enough.” his angel explains. “I did tell them I didn’t want it.”

“I see. And are you still being replaced?” Crowley asks his gaze still locked on the medal in his angel’s hands for a moment before he tears his gaze away.

“No. They changed their minds. Gabriel wouldn’t say why. Not that I’m upset by it. They wanted someone else to run _my_ bookshop. Can you imagine?” His angel asks affronted, appalled at the very idea.

“Well, they changed their minds for a while at least. Here,” He says, handing over the package of chocolates and the flowers as if an afterthought.

“Oh?” Aziraphale says shocked. “Oh, Crowley.” He swallows thickly at the message of the bouquet. Camellia’s, red for you are a flame in my heart; pink for longing; white chrysanthemum for truth; and a daffodil for...unrequited love, or you are the only one. Aziraphale stares gobsmacked at the bouquet for what feels like hours to Crowley. When his angel lifts his head up to meet his gaze, the angel’s eyes are full of tears.

Oh. Oh but that is such a good look on his angel. Eyes brimming with unshed tears. Crowley’s breath catches in his throat. _Angel, what you do to me._ Crowley almost doesn’t notice but Aziraphale’s hands are shaking. With a snap there is a glass vase with fresh water and in the flowers go to be set upon the table. All without his angel’s eyes ever leaving his own.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers.

“Angel,” Crowley replies and _this is it. He’s going to choose me._ But his angel just stands there. His arms come up as if to reach for Crowley but they stop. His angel is fighting with himself or with Heaven or with what he wants versus what he should. “It’s ok to want this, Aziraphale. You haven’t Fallen for any of a million other things. Why is this the one that you fear?” Crowley asks, refusing to be the one to bridge this gap.

“I can’t lose you, Crowley. What if this ruins everything, what if they destroy you for this. Heaven could kill you so easily with just a splash of holy water.” His angel leans forward asking him to catch him but Crowley can’t do it. Not this time. He can’t be the one always reaching out.

“You won’t. You have me, Angel. You won’t lose me unless you keep playing this game of will-you-won’t-you.” Crowley tells him and it’s a lie. He doesn’t think anything the angel could or could not do; would or would not do; does or does not do could ever lose him Crowley. But the threat of it causes Aziraphale to gasp and his eyes, already brimming with tears, to overflow. Crowley clenches his fists to stop from reaching out. But he dares not close his eyes. He wants to see this. He wants to savor this. So many of his fantasies involve the angel crying for so many reasons but this one, the thought of losing Crowley, has never featured before. It will after today.

“Angel,” Crowley says and Aziraphale shakes his head and closes his eyes and brings his fist up to stifle his sobs. “I can’t keep playing this. I’m sorry.” And Crowley turns to leave causing another sob to tear from his angel’s throat. Crowley pauses once at the door and then closes it and with a demonic miracle locks the door from the inside while he continues on his way back to his flat.

He doesn’t revisit the shop. Instead he goes home, to the royal quarters in Hell. And he sleeps. And he sleeps. And he sleeps. And when he wakes from nightmares where his angel never Falls and Satan loses him forever, he resolves to find a better way to deal with things. A way out should he lose his angel. What if his angel never chooses him. He's been planning for literally thousands of years. It’s almost time for the end of the world as it is written. What if he can’t make the angel Fall before then. Can he live without him? And he fears the answer is no. He comes up with plan upon plan upon contingency upon contingency and none of them will work if his angel is not _his_ angel. He falls into despondency and even Beelzebub notices. No more does torturing the damned souls make him smile. No more is there work to throw himself into. No more parties to drink away his worries. Just a single contingency that he threw out at first thought rears its head again. Holy water.

He writes to Aziraphale asking to meet in St. James park near the duck pond as they have always have since there was a St. James duck pond. He arrives early and the only thing to do is to wait for his angel. He doesn’t wait long before his angel comes walking up to his side.

He doesn’t bother to greet him just starts right in on, “Look, I’ve been thinking. What if it all goes wrong? We’ve got a lot in common, you and me.” As Aziraphale takes off his hat and proceeds to feed the ducks bits of bread that he had stored in his hat.

“We may both have started off as angels but _you_ are Fallen.” Aziraphale interrupts and Crowley’s chest clenches at the reminder of their very stark difference.

“I didn’t really Fall. I just, you know, sauntered vaguely downwards.” He lies, his Fall stark and burned forever into his memory of screaming and burning and drowning all at once. “I need a favor.” He jolts himself from the memory by force as he has done since the beginning.

“We already have the Agreement, Crowley. We stay out of each other's way. Lend a hand when needed.”

“This is something else. For if it all goes pear-shaped.” Crowley insists.

“I like pears.” his angel remarks as if Crowley doesn’t already know exactly which foods his angel likes and loves and hates.

“If it all goes wrong. I want insurance.” Crowley tells him.

“What?” Aziraphale asks, putting his hat back on.

“I wrote it down.” He says handing over a sheet of paper and continues as his angel reads his request. “Walls have ears. Not walls. But trees have ears. Ducks have ears. Do ducks have ears? Must do. That’s how they hear other ducks.”

“Out of the question.” Aziraphale says stunned.

“Why not?” Crowley asks looking around to see if the ducks have ears. None of his followers created ducks and he doesn’t quite remember if they should have ears or not based on the plans She handed out.

“It would destroy you. I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley.” Aziraphale insists vehemently, trying to hand back the scrap of paper.

“That’s not what I want it for.” And the lie like all lies flows so easily. “Just...Insurance.” handing the paper back.

“I’m not an idiot, Crowley. Do you know what trouble I’d be in if they knew I’d been fraternizing? It’s completely out of the question.” Aziraphale asks.

“Fraternizing?” Crowley hisses. _Fraternizing? We’ve done nothing of the sort which is the whole problem!_ He thinks.

“Whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.” His angel insists.

“I have lots of other people to fraternize with, angel.” Crowley pushes.

“Of course you do.” His angel says.

“I don’t need you.” and it’s another lie this time, one that hurts.

“The feeling is mutual. Obviously.” Aziraphale says throwing the paper into the water.

Crowley follows his angel’s lead and storms back to his flat still despondent but now also hurt and angry for allowing this no name _Principality,_ angel of the Fucking Lord to have power over Satan, King of Hell, the Adversary, Deceiver, Old Serpent, The Great Dragon, Angel of the Abyss, God of This Age, Ruler of This World, Father of Lies, the Great Tempter.

He wants his angel. Instead he avoids the bookshop and indeed the world. He goes back to Hell and takes care of all the work that had been piling up from all his time spent on Earth. And it’s only when the new century comes that he returns to Earth.

There is a war going on when he returns. They call it The Great War, The War to End all Wars. And if that doesn’t make him laugh. Humans will always find things to kill each other over. But he spends his time spreading the misery of war to the civilians this time and increasing the misery in the trenches. It’s dirty work but fulfilling. He refuses to wonder at what his angel is doing. His angel. _Her angel_.

But soon enough that war ends only to fall almost immediately into another. This one though he had a personal hand in starting. He Had taken to going and staying anywhere except in London and was in Germany after the end of the Great War only to see a young man coming to power and giving him a little push. And a little whisper in his ear. It was so easy to turn this young Adolf against Her children. They may not be as favored as they used to be before the Son of God but still so delicious to watch suffer. Until he saw what they were doing. He had almost forgotten about their creativity. Nearly a century in Hell he had nearly forgotten about humans' dreadful creativity. So he leaves back to London. Back to, no. Not back to his angel. Until he hears about a group of Nazi’s looking for books of prophecy. Angel collects prophecies. And Angel lives in Soho. And Angel...is walking into a trap.

It doesn’t take much to dig out the date and time of the meeting place from the Nazi’s collaborators and if he sends them down to Hell a bit sooner than they were supposed to be, who’s to know. They are trying to lay hands on _HIS_ angel.

He reaches the church just in time. He pauses a moment to wonder if this will kill him but then proceeds into the church all the same. He comes hopping from foot to foot down the aisle of the church and everyone is watching him the three Nazi’s and his angel. He can’t resist crying out a bit at each step.

“Sorry. Ow! Consecrated ground! It’s like,” and another hop. “Being at the beach in your bare feet.”

“What are you doing here?” his angel demands, almost sounding cross.

“Stopping you from getting into trouble. Ow!” He stops leaning on a pew but still bouncing from one burning foot to the other.

“I should have known. Of course. These people are working for you.” His angel’s accusation hangs in the air a moment.

“No! They’re a bunch of half-witted Nazi spies running around London, blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.” _If you are discorporated while handing over books of prophecy to the Nazi's you will not be allowed back on Earth until well after the End times. And I won’t be able to have you._ He thinks.

“The mysterious Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you.” Crowley tips his hat at them and he sees Aziraphale softening out of the corner of his eye.

“Anthony?” His angel asks.

“You don’t like it?” he asks nervously.

“I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.” his angel assures him.

“The famous Mr. Crowley? Such a pity you must both die.” The female one says and he honestly can’t be arsed to remember any of their names.

“What does the J stand for?” His angel asks as if over tea instead of facing down a gun.

“Just a J really. Look at that a whole font-full of holy water.” He says, noticing for the first time the unguarded holy water. “It doesn’t even have guards.”

“Enough blabbering. Kill them both.” The tall one says. And Crowley is not about to let a few humans ruin this.

“In about a minute a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here.” He gestures down. “If you all run away very _very_ fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, and you definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.” He almost laughs at what these three will face down in Hell. Nothing like what they are doing to those humans in the camps is a sobering thought.

“You expect us to believe that? The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.” The squat one says.

“Indeed. It would take a last minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes. You are wasting all your valuable running away time. But if, in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” He meets his angel’s eyes over the top of his dark glasses.

“A real miracle?” Aziraphale asks.

“Yes.” he agrees nodding.

“Kill them! They are very irritating.” The tall one says again and then they all look to the sound of a falling bomb from up above their heads and…

The church is nothing but a wreck when the smoke clears but Crowley is no longer having to hop from foot to foot. The consecrated ground no longer holy with the destruction of the house of worship.

“That was very kind of you.” Aziraphale says gently.

“Shut up.” Crowley answers with a smirk. His angel is safe and trusting him again. But he has some true work to do now.

“Well, it was. No paperwork for a start.” his angel starts to smile. And then, “The books! I forgot all the books! They’ll have been blown to…”

Crowley doesn’t let him finish before he removes the leather bag from the wrist of one of those Nazi spies. And he still can’t be bothered to care which one. He hands it over to his angel and the look of him, back lit by fire in the ruins of one of Her houses. He has never been more enthralling.

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” He asks and the angel follows him to the car that he had bought. Big and sleek and black and so much better than those horses. He opens the passenger door for his angel to climb in and closes the door gently. Moving around to the driver’s side, he climbs in and pulls the car out into the road and back towards Soho. The drive is made in silence but for Crowley’s hisses and squirming. His feet still burn from the consecrated ground. Likely scar. Soon enough they are back in front of the bookshop and Crowley leaps out to get the door for his angel.

Aziraphale steps out of the car and pauses not looking at him. “Crowley,” he says and stops and turns to face him. “Come in? Please?” he asks timidly, quietly.

And how can he say no to that? So, he nods and lets Aziraphale lead the way into the shop. The room is dark and Crowley hasn’t been in it since the shop was still empty but he has excellent night vision, both from the serpent nature of his eyes and from being a demon. He follows his angel into a back room with a sofa and chair. Aziraphale lights the rooms with candles with a snap, lights out still being in effect.

“Sit? I’ll see to your feet.” his angel says quietly setting the books down on a table.

“It’s alright, Angel.”

“No, it’s not.” Aziraphale insists and Crowley complies, eager to see where this is going.

Aziraphale leaves the room momentarily only to come back with a copper wash basin and some towels. And he kneels at Crowley’s feet. And Crowley is shocked into stillness. He has wanted this. He has wanted this angel on his knees before him but had no idea it would happen like this.

Slowly, Aziraphale reaches out to lift Crowley’s feet and gingerly begins to remove his shoes. And places each foot down into the blessedly unblessed cool water. He lets his feet soak until the water begins to grow tepid and the angel gently takes first one foot out and then the other, wiping them down and placing soft kisses at the ankle and the arch. When his feet are dry once more and cool instead of burning, the angel lays his head gently upon Crowley’s knees. It’s an apology of sorts. A quiet one. And a first move. And so Crowley takes the second, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and he feels the knees of his trousers getting wet with angel tears as his angel quietly cries into his lap.

“It’s alright, Aziraphale.” Crowley says gently and his angel starts to sob. And Crowley continues running his hand gently through his angel’s hair to massage his scalp.

Eventually Aziraphale’s sobs taper off and his head rises from its place in Crowley’s lap. “Oh, my dear boy, I’m afraid I’ve gone and wept all over you again.”

“It’s alright. Only stings a little.” Crowley tries for joking but from his angel’s aghast look he didn’t realize angel tears were holy water. “It’s alright. I promise. You didn’t kill me.” He croons again, his hands coming up to tangle in the angel’s hair and massage his scalp.

Slowly, Aziraphale starts to relax. Once his angel is put back together, Crowley moves to stand. Aziraphale sits back on his legs kneeling at his feet and looking up at him with quiet adoration. And Crowley thinks _this is what I wanted. But why haven’t you Fallen?_ Slowly he raises his hand to cup his angel’s cheek and brush away his tears and doesn’t ask the question he wants to ask. _Are you ready to tell me?_ And he slowly turns to leave. Once at the door he glances back to see his angel still on his knees watching him go quietly without a sound.

He makes it home in record time with the new Bentley. And once he has crossed the threshold of his flat wrenches the glasses from his face and stares up at the ceiling. “He is Falling. Whether you like it or not. He’s Falling for me.” And he laughs a sob and falls to sit on the floor of his flat. And stays that way until morning.


	7. Plans Made and Plans Foiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley enacts some plans and has some enacted against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the changing warnings and tags. They do not necessarily take place in this chapter but in the future things are changing. It's getting darker. Forced pregnancy is in this chapter so be aware! There are mentions of the pregnancy and birth that I am putting in line breaks so that it may be skipped.

They don’t avoid each other after that but neither do they spend much time together. Not for any particular reason, except Crowley is starting to think there is something very wrong with him. His angel’s tears instead of fueling his fantasies had begun to grind them to a screaming halt. He fantasized about telling his angel who he is and that he had only wanted him to Fall, after he of course Falls, and seeing his angel’s tears, instead of bringing him to attention he remained flaccid and soft. He fantasized about holding the angel down, roughly forcing his flesh into a form he could fuck and his angel’s tears at the rough treatment instead of bringing him to completion, he wavered and stumbled losing his rhythm ruining the whole moment. He fantasized about chaining his angel in Hell to the royal bed he had there with Infernal Iron, of keeping him there solely for his own use of breaking his spirit like he breaks his body and, instead of the exhilaration of satisfaction, he feels nothing but an empty pain in his chest.

There is something extremely wrong with him. He knows what the humans would say. He’s spent enough time with them to know that the way he wanted his angel before was...less than ideal, less than holy. And that is the whole point, he is a demon, the King of demons. Nothing he feels is Holy. But then why does his angel’s tears instead of giving him joy cause this hole in his chest to open, clawing and aching?

He is not avoiding his angel. Instead he seeks him out. Over a century of no contact had brought the angel almost to Falling, to worshiping at his feet but he can’t take the chance that another century would do the same. So he seeks him out and spends the rest of the war in the bookshop and his flat and watches the angel avoid the war knowing he is not allowed to save them. They do not speak of what happened that night nor is there a repeat of it, despite how much he wants the angel on his knees again for more carnal activities, to hold him in place and take his pleasure and those tears at least still bring him some satisfaction.

He still, though, needs to plan. Just because the angel was willing to make a move that night doesn't mean that he will continue. His angel has a habit of yo-yo-ing back and forth on the issue of his corruption. And so Crowley spends his time talking to his angel about little nothings, about the humans. And his angel responds in kind. And it is in a holding pattern until Crowley begins to plan.

That night in the church, he had noticed a whole font-full of holy water unguarded. He doesn’t need to take the holy water from his angel. If one church had it, then likely others will as well. He doesn’t know how to check but he is planning.

He has always been in the seedy underbelly of London since the very beginning. And so it’s the work of a few days to gather together a group of disreputable individuals. It is the night of their initial planning meeting at a bar around the corner from the bookshop. He knows better than to trust humans for a job like this but he is hoping to push Aziraphale’s hand.

He is somehow unsurprised when he opens the car door and sits down after his meeting to find the angel in his car.

“What are you doing here?” he greets suspiciously.

“Needed a word with you.” His angel admits almost cross.

 _You could have just asked_. He thinks but doesn’t say. “What?” he asks instead.

“I work in Soho, I hear things.” His angel tells him not looking at him for more than a moment at a time. “I hear you are setting up a...caper, to rob a church. Crowley,” and finally he looks at him. “It’s too dangerous. Holy Water won’t just kill your body. It would destroy you completely.”

His angel is begging him with his words and his eyes to reconsider but this plan had been in the works for a hundred and five years. And he tells him so. “You’ve already told me what you think. A hundred and five years ago.” And he hasn’t been counting. He hasn’t.

“And I haven’t changed my mind. But I won’t have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So,” he picks up a tartan thermos. A tartan pattern he recognizes. This is the pattern the angel came up with. His family tartan for all that he is the only one to wear it. “You can call off the robbery.” His angel tells him handing over his personal thermos. “Don’t go unscrewing the top.”

“It’s the real thing?” he has to make sure.

“The holiest.” his angel assures him.

“After everything you said?” And his angel nods. “Should I say thank you?” Crowley asks and is truly unsure how to thank his angel for something that can destroy him if things all go to pot.

“Better not.” Aziraphale says looking out at the street again.

“Can I drop you anywhere?” He asks. He knows the bookshop is right there but he somehow still wants to spend time with his angel tonight.

“No, thank you.” he looks at Crowley and must see something in his face, some of his disappointment, because he continues. “Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps someday we could… I don’t know… Have a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.” He offers and they both know that is unlikely to happen. Aziraphale is too afraid of Heaven or Hell knowing about them. Every few decades he will relax and they can socialize but then he gets a missive from Heaven or Crowley says something extra demonic and he panics and pushes Crowley away again. It’s getting tiring. Crowley misses the days when he could tempt the angel openly without worry about Heaven’s micromanaging.

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.” _Say the word angel and I will give you the world._ He can’t say.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.” And he is out the door.

Crowley lifts the thermos and then places it down gently on the seat his angel had just vacated. He turns the car on and pulls away. His smile as he does so, tinged with disappointment as well as satisfaction at a plan gone right.

He makes his way back to his flat and places the holy water in a safe location before sitting heavily on the sofa. “What does that even mean? I go too fast for him. Glaciers move faster than he has.” He growls to himself. He sighs deeply. “I will have him. I don’t care about the human souls, just give me this one angel.” He sneers at the ceiling. She is listening. He knows She is. And She is laughing at him. He can almost hear it on the wind and in the heavy silence of the flat.

The world keeps spinning and he keeps coming back to his angel. And some days the angel smiles at him like he did at the Globe or looks at him with adoration like after the church. And Crowley thinks the angel will finally choose him. Choose to Fall for him. But every time something stops him from reaching out.

Soon enough, 6000 years have come and gone and Satan is disappointed. His angel hasn’t Fallen and so he puts off starting the End Times as much as he can. He deflects as much as he can when Beelzebub asks him when he is planning to start the final battle. And finally he can defer no longer.

He wakes up one day in his Mayfair flat to something dreadfully wrong. There is something growing in him. A parasite of a child. One he didn’t put there. One that shouldn’t be there. He cancels his lunch plans with his angel knowing instinctively that the angel will be able to feel it. And wouldn’t that be a thing to explain to his angel. I’m pregnant because She has decided to start the End without my consent.

He hates it. He wants to rip it out in blood and bone and watch it writhe in its last moments. But he doesn’t. She would only do it again and he does not know if he has the fortitude for a battle of wills with Her right now. He is tired. So damn tired. And he was supposed to take his angel to lunch and then a walk through the art museum so they could laugh about all the stories they shared with the artists.

His chest aches. And he refuses to go anywhere and so crawls back into bed after sending a missive to Beelzebub to let xir know that he is working on the Antichrist. He spends most of the nine months in bed thankful to be a demon or at the very least a celestial being. He does not need to eat or drink or use the loo. His angel calls him periodically trying to make plans and each time he has to refuse. He can hear the disappointment and sorrow in his angel’s too cheerful voice every time an excuse drips off his tongue but by now it is quite impossible to hide even from the humans. His skinny body doing nothing to hide the growing of his middle. It sticks out obscenely and Crowley hates it. Every day is another day he has to fight the growing nausea and urge to tear it from his body with his own bloody claws.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He uses this time to think. To think about his angel and what to do with him when Hell wins the battle, He can’t even contemplate what will happen if they lose. All his friends, insofar as demons who used to be angels have friends, dying around him. His angel forever out of reach. He also thinks about the child. About what it will look like and think like and act like. If it will look just like him or if She has made him with another form in mind. He thinks idly once that he wouldn’t hate it so very much if he could raise it with Aziraphale. But only with his angel. If it were a part of him. And a part of himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. But he knows it can never be and forcibly shoves the thought from his mind like he shoves the intrusive memories of his Fall whenever his angel reminds him of it and also like he had shoved the idea of the holy water the first time it occurred to him.

When it comes time to birth the little leech he feels for the first time the kind of pain that has been inflicted on the humans. He feels his body forcibly changing to precipitate the birthing and the seat of his too tight trousers soaking as his water breaks. The muscles in his back and stomach contract hard. It hits him that he doesn’t want to be alone for this. He wants his angel. He almost calls Aziraphale simply to hear his voice again. But knows he can’t. As another contraction hits, Crowley gives a loud cry of pain and doubles over. They are getting stronger.

He remembers all those times watching those humans give birth and seeing how much pain they were in and laughing about it. He would never take back any of his actions or thoughts but he feels a frisson of some sympathy. He takes to walking around to ease the way and miracles up what he remembers as a birthing stool from the last time he had watched a midwife help birth a child. Though it was centuries ago now. He squats over the stool and with a snap has his bottom half unclothed. The stool has arms to grab and he does so now.

“I hate you!” He cries out to the Heavens as another contraction rips through his body. He tries to use a demonic miracle to ease the way but it only takes a little off the pain. Soon he is drenched in sweat and wondering if he needs to allow the humans to help when he gives a mighty push with the next contraction and a little of the pain eases as the head comes free. He gives another push and one more and the parasite has come free to fall gently on the blood soaked floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He leaves the child hoping it will perish on its own as he delivers the after birth smoothly. And then he looks down at the child. With a sneer he picks it up. And growling at the ceiling, he uses another miracle to clear the airways and jostles the child a little to encourage a breath. The child takes a shaky inhale and Crowley lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He takes a moment to wash up the child and clean the floors back to spotless marble. The child needs clothes and so he finds a misshapen red scarf that his angel had made for him one winter decades ago during one of his warm years, as opposed to all those years of cold shoulders and cold attitudes. Wrapping the child in it he quickly pops down to Hell as Satan and drops the child off with Beelzebub instructing Xir to take care of it. Xe has been taking care of all the planning of Armageddon with xir head for strategy. When he gets back he has an order from Hastur to meet him in a graveyard far outside the city.

He wonders what that toad could possibly want now but he has been living a double life long enough to understand to put his personal feelings aside and show up for his ‘boss’. He does take the time to bring down the mobile phone networks in London for good measure before he has to get out of the city to make his appointment. The drive is taken quickly with Queen blaring as it always blares. He is in a hurry, doesn’t the traffic know that? It must as it is going phenomenally slow. Finally he arrives at the designated graveyard at an abandoned church. And Freddy Mercury is singing, “Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me.” And Crowley wonders idly if that was true. He is the only one that truthfully listens to music from Hell but he makes a note to ask after Freddy’s soul next time he is himself.

He gets out of the car to saunter up to Hastur, and Ligur has joined him, how fun. It’s a regular old party up here tonight. And Satan realizes he is in a terrible mood from just having given birth to a child he never wanted on his own. And not having been able to make his date with his angel for sushi.

“All hail Satan.” Hastur greets and Ligur echoes him.

Crowley has always found it odd to hail himself and just responds with “Hi guys, Sorry I’m late. But, well, you know how it is on the A40 at Denham, and then I tried to cut up towards Chorleywood…”

“Now we art all here,” Hastur interrupts and Crowley almost tears him in two. “We must recount the deeds of the day.”

 _We do? Oh, I remember this._ “Of course. Deeds. Yeah.”

“I have tempted a priest. As he walked down the street and saw the pretty girls in the sun, I put Doubt into his mind. He would have been a saint, but now, within a decade we shall have him.” Hastur says proudly.

And Crowley nods politely. “Nice one.”

I have corrupted a politician. I let him think a tiny bribe wouldn’t hurt. Within a year we shall have him.” Ligur joins in next. And Crowley wonders how these two ended up as Dukes of Hell. They were both way behind the times. Priests and politicians do their own tempting anymore. It’s easy pickings. But again he nods politely. The two Dukes stare at him expectantly.

“You’ll like this. I brought down every London-area mobile phone network tonight.” Crowley admits even as he does so knowing that these two won’t appreciate it. He’s the only one that can appreciate his own genius.

“Yes?” Hastur asks unimpressed.

“It wasn’t easy. I had to send rats into the BT Tower, and I had to pour tea into the network controller, while the backup system was offline for maintenance…”

“And what exactly has that done to secure souls for our Master?”

 _Master? What?_ _When did they start calling me Master it sounds like bad S &M._ Crowley thinks puzzled. Though, he does like the sound of his angel calling him that. And FOCUS, Cro- _Satan_. He gives an internal sigh. “Oh come on! Think about it! Fifteen million pissed-off people? Who take it out on each other? Who take it out on everyone else? Ruined days. Ruined nights. The knock-on effects are incalculable…” He trails off knowing they don’t care. None of the other Demons had realized yet that Humans had such creativity. You give them a nudge and they will roll with it like ducks to water.

“It’s not exactly craftsmanship.” Ligur tells him. And Fuck craftsmanship there are billions of people on this planet anymore you can’t pick away at them one at a time. He almost tears them limb from limb and discorporates them both but refrains. No need to ruin his millennia of hard work living a double life because he’s irritable.

“Head Office doesn’t seem to mind. They love me down there. Guys, times are changing. So, what’s up?” he asks instead, eager to cut this waste of a meeting down.

“This is,” Hastur says as Ligur reaches out with a basket. A very familiar basket. The one Beelzebub had put the baby into.

“No.” And its an exhale more than a protest.

“Yes,” Ligur argues.

“And it’s up to me to…” He says just for clarification. And maybe he’ll kill Beelzebub as well for doing this to him.

“Yes,” Ligur says simply.

“You know. This sort of...well, it really isn’t my scene.” He protests. He does not want to be the one responsible for this. He wants to spend the next eleven years getting his angel to Fall and fucking him against any relatively flat surface.

“Your scene. Your starring role.” Ligur says mockingly. “Take it.” He growls.

“Like you said. Times are changing.” Hastur mocks.

“They’re coming to an end for a start.” Ligur jokes.

“Why me?” He is genuinely curious to know.

“They love you down there.” Hastur teases him. “And what an opportunity. Ligur here would give his right arm to be you tonight.”

“Somebody’s right arm, anyway.” Ligur comments.

Hastur has a clipboard in his hands suddenly and holds it out to Crowley. “Sign here.” And Crowley signs the sigil for Crowley.

“What now?” he asks.

“You will receive instructions. Why so glum? The moment we have been waiting for all these centuries is at hand.” Hastur says cheerfully, or as cheerfully as Hastur ever gets.

“Centuries.” Crowley responds blankly. Centuries he had spent on his angel and still no closer to his Fall and running out of time.

“Our moment of eternal triumph awaits.” Ligur tells him.

“Triumph.” Crowley repeats. Triumph would be a newly Fallen angel in his bed and in his arms.

“And you will be a tool of that glorious destiny!” Hastur says grandly.

“Glorious. Tool. Yeah.” Crowley answers back. Glorious would be seeing his angel with scorched wings and broken spirit and tear tracks on his sooty face. A tool would be his angel as an object to let loose his desires upon.

Crowley takes the basket wearily and takes a step back. “I’ll be, er, off then get it over with. Not that I want to get it over with. Obviously. You know me. Keen.” He is rambling. Satan is rambling. But his mind is twelve steps ahead and planning. “So, I’ll be popping along then. See you guys ar—see you. Er. Fine. Ciao.” He finishes as he reaches his car and puts the basket in Angel's seat and turning on the car to blast some more music, Queen as anything left in a car inevitably turns into, peels out of the graveyard. _Shit shit shit FUCK_. Crowley thinks. This was not what he wanted to be doing tonight. He wanted to finally see his angel after months apart. He wanted more time to corrupt his angel. He wanted… someone else to deal with this.

“Why me?” He asks the world at large and is not expecting an answer.

Beelzebub answering from the radio in Freddy Mercury’s voice. “Because you earned it, Crowley. Our Master is quite impressed with your work. Here are your instructions.”

And the knowledge is dripped straight into his brain. Tadfield, Satanic nuns, hospital, exchange the babies. Beelzebub has really thought of everything. Except for the fact that Crowley is not Crowley and Satan does not want the job of delivering his son to a hospital.

Crowley growls as the car is jerked to the side out of the way of an oncoming lorry. The baby in the basket wakes and gives a great wail. “Shut up.” Crowley growls as he continues to drive the car towards Oxford and Tadfield. The infant gives a pathetic whimper and goes silent. “Damn it!” Crowley yells. “You’re hungry aren’t you?” He asks and blesses under his breath. He pushes down on the accelerator harder pushing the car to go even faster. He’s nearly to Tadfield when the baby falls back asleep. And Crowley slows down slightly. He thinks about stopping. He thinks about calling Aziraphale and raising the kid themselves. He considers a lot of things during the drive to Tadfield. He considers what Aziraphale would say if he showed up with the Antichrist. Probably tell him to put it back.

When he reaches the hospital, he sees a man in a cardigan. He looks nervous like an expectant father would. But he is clearly not an ambassador. Crowley has run in political circles before and this man is not a cultural attache. In fact he looks more like an aide. Perhaps that’s it. The man is the ambassador’s aide. He starts to head inside when the man stops him about his lights being on and with a wave at the car the lights go out.

“Has it started yet?” He asks the man.

“I think we were getting on with it, Doctor.” _Well that makes this easier._

“What room’s she in?” Crowley asks as he heads in the door.

“We’re in room three.” the man answers helpfully.

Entering the hospital brings him up into a side hallway with a nun passing by with a tin of biscuits. She screams nurse to him. Or midwife. And why didn’t he know about these people before. They could have helped get this wretched thing out of him earlier in the day. But then he would have had to kill them. No way in Hell was he going to allow some humans to see him weak. Even if it was his Crowley persona.

“Psst,” He calls the nurse over and reaches out with the basket with the sleeping infant in it. She gets the message immediately if her running over and curtsying is any indication. She takes the basket to peer inside. And coos. Crowley hates her immediately.

This little thing, pest, is ruining all his plans and she has the gall to coo at his son as if he doesn’t have more power in a single strand of hair than she will ever understand.

“Is this him?” she asks, smiling.

“Yep,” he almost growls. Almost.

“Only, I’d expected funny eyes. Or little hoofikins. Or a widdle tail.”

And it’s only once she’s said something that he realizes he never looked to see if he was all normal. He seems to be now though. Blond hair, blue eyes, little Aryan. Crowley scowls. It looks better on his angel. And those eyes are his angel's exact shade. He scowls harder at the baby. She _is_ laughing at him.

“It’s definitely him.” Crowley is sure of it.

“Fancy me holding the Antichrist. And counting his little toesy-woesies...Do you look like you daddy?” Crowley gags behind her at her tone. “Do you look like your daddywaddykins…” And he almost kills her to find another competent nun, nurse, both.

“He doesn’t.” At least...He doesn’t think he looks like him. He was never a baby or a child to know.” Take him up to room three.” He says and he leaves, he forces himself not to look back at his...at the child.

“Do you think he’ll remember me?”

“Pray that he doesn’t.” And he’s through the door and back in the car. It’s in other hands now. Well, until he has to integrate with the family to influence him. That had also been in the knowledge they dropped into his brain. And why Beelzebub or Hastur or Ligur couldn’t just tell him that, he will never understand. Making things much more complicated. Yes, he does know what it looks like from someone living a double life for 6000 years. Once on the road proper, he tries to call his angel on the car phone. Until he remembers that he took down the phone lines earlier in the day. And they are not back up yet if the error message is anything to go by.

Instead he stops at a small town to find a payphone, miraculously. And makes the call from memory.

“I’m afraid we are most definitely closed.” his angel answers the phone. And it’s...good...to hear his voice. He feels his chest tighten at the sound of his angel’s voice.

“Aziraphale. It’s me. We have to talk.” he says.

“Yes. Yes. I rather think we do.” His angel says coldly.

Shit. He missed a dinner date. Sushi. He knows better than to keep Angel waiting for food. He had created a monster back in Egypt. “Really? Okay. Usual place.”

“I, um, I assume this is about…” his angel sounds unsure.

“Armageddon. Yes.” And Crowley hangs up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no promises about an update tomorrow or Saturday. I am moving Saturday and will not be able to write much because of it. I will try to be back to updating on Sunday. It's not abandoned but Real Life is interrupting my writing time.


	8. Raising Warlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley makes a plan, Angel takes some convincing and an Antichrist is raised.

The drive back to London is taken in tense silence. Crowley is planning. He needs to infiltrate the household to raise the Antichrist. He needs to get his angel to Fall. He needs to be near his angel to do that. He needs to get Aziraphale to infiltrate the household. Perhaps to influence the Antichrist. His Angel is not going to agree easily. It is going to take some doing. But he thinks he can pull it off. Frame it like he did the Arrangement? No. Not quite at least. Frame it about what he will lose. Aziraphale has become quite hedonistic. They won’t allow that in Heaven. If he disagrees. This one he’s going to have to push. Angel has to agree. Frame it...like stopping Armageddon. Stop the Antichrist. It’ll be easy. He’s a child. “You won’t get away with this. With forcing that onto me. With ending the world. Angel will stop it. And then I have more time to make him Fall and You. You get to watch me spoil him. I will have him one way or the other before this is over.”

When they meet in the usual place, St James duck pond, Crowley is feeling more himself than he has in nearly a year. Nine months at least. It’s nice to get back to normal. He has become accustomed to this routine. He’s not sure what he would do if it were suddenly thrown out. He enjoys talking with his angel. He enjoys the human pleasures and their creativity. He still thinks they should all die in flames. However, they create some magnificent things. Like his Bentley. Or their music. Or their wine. It’s a shame they all have to die for this war to get off the ground. If he could simply take over Heaven without the humans being involved he thinks he might take it.

Aziraphale, he knows, loves the Earth and the humans and their pleasures. He loves their food and their books. He loves their wine and their music. He loves them. And Crowley almost wishes he could be jealous of it. But he knows his angel. He also cares about Crowley. He is simply afraid. Afraid for him, certainly, though perhaps he should be more afraid _of_ him. And Crowley suppresses a smirk.

“Angel,” he greets as his angel takes a seat next to him on their bench and begins to feed the ducks.

“Crowley,” and his angel still sounds miffed about being stood up. Or maybe about not telling him. About dinner or the Antichrist, Crowley isn’t quite sure. “You said this was about…”

“Armageddon. Yes.”

“So, tell me what happened,” His angel asks and Crowley begins to talk.

“The Antichrist has been born. And placed with a politician’s family.”

“You’re sure it was the Antichrist?” Aziraphale questions and if he didn’t know him he would be insulted.

“I should know. I delivered the baby.” He panics a moment and corrects himself. “Well not deliver-delivered,” he lies, “You know. Handed it over.” And Aziraphale feeds a particularly needy Drake that Crowley kills for stealing his angel’s time.

“Really, my dear, was that necessary?” Aziraphale admonishes.

“Sorry,” Crowley lies as the duck picks itself back up and walks away.

“We knew something was going on, of course. I’ve made enquiries. An American diplomat. Really? As if Armageddon were a cinematographic show you wish to sell in as many countries as possible.” Aziraphale has stopped feeding the ducks and is now sitting primly next to him. Crowley wishes he could take his hand in his own bruising grip.

“Earth and all the kingdoms thereof.” He says instead.

Finally, his angel looks at him. “We will win, you know.” And Crowley’s heart clenches. Maybe Angel doesn’t actually want him the way Crowley has been playing him. Maybe he could have made him Fall faster by pushing some other manner of sin.

He lets none of his panic show. “You really believe that?” He asks instead.

“Obviously. Heaven will finally triumph over Hell. It’s all going to be rather lovely.” Aziraphale turns back to face forwards.

 _And what do you think that will do to me?_ He wants to ask. _Do you expect Heaven to show Mercy to a demon?_ His throat feels like it is closing up. He forces nonchalance when he says, “Out of interest how many first class composers do your lot have in Heaven? Cause Mozart’s one of ours. So is Beethoven. Schubert. All the Bach’s.”

“They have already written their music…”

“And you’ll never hear it again. No more Albert Hall. No more Glyndebourne. Just celestial harmonies.” He says. He knows what his angel loves and it’s not in Heaven.

“Well…”

“And that’s just the start of what you’ll lose if you win. No more fascinating little restaurants where they know you. No gravlax and dill sauce. No more Regency era silver snuff boxes. No more old bookshops.” He says finally standing up and moving away trusting his angel to follow him.

“But after we win, Life will be better for everybody.” _Oh, Angel. How can you be so clever so often and still so oblivious. Life won’t be better for me. For us._

“You’ll be as happy with a harp as I’ll be with a pitchfork.” He says seriously.

“We don’t play harps.” His angel says, as if he had forgotten what Heaven was like.

“And we don’t use pitchforks. You know what I mean.” he says a tad irritably as he always is when his angel rubs his unFallen status in his face.

“But it’s part of the Divine Plan. The Four Horsemen will ride out.” Aziraphale tells him. He fights the urge to roll his eyes.

“Where do they ride out from?” he wonders aloud.

“What?”

“The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Their arrival signals the End of Days. War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death. Where do they ride from? Do they have a stable somewhere?” he muses, maybe he can get them to stop.

“You ought to know. They work for your lot, don’t they?” Aziraphale accuses.

“Not as far as I know. Independent contractors, I expect. Specialists. In business for themselves.” Crowley tells him.

“I heard Pestilence retired.” Angel says suddenly.

“Really?” Crowley hadn't heard that. Maybe he should start paying more attention to Beelzebub's reports. Or read that infernal newspaper they started printing several centuries ago.

“It’s Pollution now. Anyway I think it’s all a bit of a red herring. The Four Horsemen ride out and the seas turn to blood…”

“Sea is where your sushi comes from. Your herrings too.” Crowley says and Angel looks miffed at the reminder. Or maybe at being interrupted. His angel is on edge today or maybe it’s just him. Angel is disagreeing. Won’t even listen to him. So plan B...frame it like stopping the Antichrist. Frame it like...foiling a plot. They are approaching his Bentley when he speaks again. “We only have eleven years then it’s all over. We have to work together.”

Before he has a chance to continue his angel interrupts him this time. “No. Out of the question.”

“It’s the end of the world we are talking about not some little temptation I’ve asked you to cover for me while you are up in Edinburgh for the festival. You can’t say no.”

“No,” his angel says to be obstinate.

“I have an idea.”

“No. I. Am. Not. Interested.” Angel says and he’s going to walk away.

Crowley panics internally for a moment. He can’t fail here but pushing now would drive Angel further away. “Fine,” he says instead. “Let’s have lunch then. I still owe you one from…” Somewhen. He’s not sure. But he knows he owes his angel lunch. Probably for the missed dinner last night but he’s not going to remind his angel of that.

“Paris, 1793.” Angel tells him.

“Ah yes. The Reign of Terror. Was that one of ours or one of yours?” He asks knowing full well the violence was all him. But Heaven had a tendency to take credit for his more diabolical plans when they could see the long term effects play out.

“You know. I don’t recall.” Angel responds but then he blushes deeply. Ah yes, the Bastille and the chains. And Angel turning him down. Crowley smirks a little as the blush deepens when he meets Crowley’s eyes and Crowley gives his angel a once over lasciviously. Before opening the car door for him. Angel gets in while keeping his gaze averted.

Once in and the door shut, Crowley goes around to his own door and, ignoring the traffic warden who has been staring at them in confusion, gets in. Soon the Bentley is turned on and the wheel clamp is missing as Crowley pulls out. The warden’s ticket book goes up in flames and Crowley knows he hadn't done it. He side eyes his angel and sees he is still blushing but has an adorable, did he just think that, scowl on his face.

“Where to for lunch?” Crowley asks instead of any number of things he wants to ask his angel. Like _do you regret it? Are you sure?_ Or worse yet, _please help me?_

“How about the Ritz? I believe a table for two has just opened up.” Aziraphale says coyly.

“You got it, Angel.” Crowley says as he turns toward their destination. They make it in record time and their table is still open. They are seated and as Angel peruses the menu, Crowley is thinking ahead. Let Angel eat. No business during lunch. When their food comes, Angel savours his food. Crowley is desperate to be done with it. But Angel, he savours every bite drawing it out, and the little moans of appreciation have never gone completely away but they got much quieter. Thankfully. He would hate to have to kill the whole restaurant for knowing what his angel sounds like in pleasure. Angel would hate him if he did.

They speak of nothing. Sometimes Angel will comment on the flavours of his food but for the most part the meal is taken in silence. Crowley finishes quickly and sits nursing a cup of espresso as Angel finishes.

“That was scrumptious.” Angel says dabbing at his lips with his napkin and Crowley, who has been thinking and planning throughout the meal while watching his angel, smiles slightly. “So, what are you in the mood for now?” His angel asks as he looks Crowley up and down. Crowley gives an internal grin.

“Alcohol.” He says taping his spoon against the rim of his espresso cup. “Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.” Get his angel drunk. And he just might cave. It’s not the first time he’s gotten drunk with his angel but the others, well, Angel has to be sober to consent.

“I suppose so, but let’s do it back at the shop.” Aziraphale says and flags down a waiter. Crowley pays, as he agreed to, with a stolen credit card. It’s not that he can’t have his own, in fact he does, but it’s so much nicer to treat Angel with someone else’s cash. He smiles as they make their way back to the Bentley.

“Oh, let’s walk.”Angel says and Crowley pauses. He doesn’t want to leave the Bentley but Angel so very rarely makes requests like that. So he nods and they begin their walk back to Soho. His angel chatters as he didn’t during dinner, about a new book he is reading or a new restaurant he found two weeks ago or what the neighbours next to the shop are up to. Crowley listens and makes the right noises at the right time but let’s his angel’s voice wash over him.

As they round the corner onto the block with the bookshop Angel begins to slow down his chatter. And Crowley can get a word in edgewise again.

“I have several very nice bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back. I picked up a dozen or so cases of them in 1921, and I still have some left, for a special occasion.” His angel smiles as he talks about what wine they will be drinking. And Crowley feels something flutter against his ribcage.

“Lovely.” He says. It’s time for phase two, more cajoling. “Not very big on wine in Heaven, are they, though? Not going to get any more nice little Châteauneuf-du-Papes in Heaven. Or single malt scotch. Or little frou-frou drinks with little umbrellas.” Doubt. He can inspire Doubt in the best of them and his Angel is very much the best of them.

“I told you, Crowley. I am not helping you.” Aziraphale protests. “I’m not interested. This is purely social. I am an angel. You are a demon. We’re hereditary enemies. Get thee behind me foul fiend.” His angel unlocks the bookshop door before gesturing him in. “After you.” Crowley does roll his eyes and is thankful for his sunglasses as he does so.

“Now,” his angel begins as Crowley leads the way to the backroom where the same settee and chair are from 1941, worn and comfortable. “Where were we?”

“You were offering me wine.” Crowley tells him seriously.

“Ah yes. The Châteauneuf-du-Pape.” And his angel is back further into the back room where he keeps the wine stored. He comes back with two bottles and Crowley thinks they are going to need more than that.

His angel hands him one of the bottles as he fights to open the one in his hands. It comes free with a minor miracle and Crowley opens the one in his own hands and takes a swig of the wine without really tasting it. Angel blinks at him in stunned silence and his mouth drops open as the bottle is turned further up and Crowley just keeps drinking. When he stops there is a quarter of the bottle left and his angel is staring at him flabbergasted.

“Got a glass?” He asks to shock Angel out of his stupor. Aziraphale just nods silently and hands him a glass. Silently, Crowley pours the rest of the wine in his bottle into the glass, filling it near to spilling. He takes another sip of the ruby liquid in his glass and raises his glass in a toast towards his angel. “To Armageddon.”

Angel watches as he takes another sip, this time savouring it. His angel blinks and says. “Are you quite alright, dear boy?”

“The End is coming, Angel. Nothing is alright.”

And he takes another gulp of wine. Aziraphale nods and sits down with his own glass. “I see. I wasn’t aware you had such a strong attachment to the world.”

“It’s not the world, Angel. It’s you. Do you really think that things are going to be fine between us? One of us is going to die in this war.” Crowley says. And Aziraphale’s eyes widen as his gaze lowers to gaze into his own glass of deep red wine.

“Oh,” Angel says numbly and takes a long drink.

“Yeah. So,” Crowley begins. “So…” and he takes another drink.

They sit in utter silence as they each finish their respective bottles and Aziraphale miracles up another dozen bottles. Soon enough they are both completely drunk on wine and the silence has tapered off into low conversation concerning their shared past.

“So, what is your point?” Aziraphale asks when the conversation lulls.

“My point is… we can change it.” Crowley insists.

“Change? My dear boy, I’m an angel I can’t disa- not do what I’m told.” Angel rubs at his forehead. “I can’t cope with this while I’m drunk. I’m going to sober up.”

“Yeah. Alright. Me too.” Crowley agrees. And he focuses very hard for a few moments as the alcohol leaves both of their systems to go back into the scattered bottles. He smacks his mouth at the left over, fuzzy taste of alcohol.

“Look, Crowley, it’s not that I disagree with you but I’m an angel I’m not _allowed_ to disobey. You know what happens when an angel disobeys.” And Crowley is very well aware. The burning in his throat on long nights of meteor showers ensures that.

“You think I’m allowed? My lot only agrees with disobedience in general terms. Not when it’s against them,” Crowley tells him seriously.

“Even if I wanted to help I couldn’t. I can’t interfere with the Divine Plan.” Aziraphale says patiently. And Crowley gets a beautiful idea.

“What about diabolical plans?” He asks slyly. “My lot put the baby into play.” and they are both silent as Aziraphale ponders his words.

“So, what is your plan?” Angel asks with a look on his face that says ‘I’m going to regret this.’ And Crowley resists a smirk. Get Angel to infiltrate the household. Frame it like… thwarting a plot.

“Listen. The Antichrist has been born. There’s no stopping that. But it’s the upbringing that’s important. The evil influences. That’s all going to be me. I’ve been ordered to infiltrate the household. But the good influences. Well…” He trails off meaningfully. “After all, you are meant to be thwarting the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren’t you?”

“Actually, I encourage humans to do the actual…”

“Semantics, Angel.” he interrupts.

Angel pauses and looks at him, really seems to look at him. “I suppose, Heaven couldn’t object if I was thwarting you.”

“Be a real feather in your wing.” Crowley assures. And maybe this will get him to Fall. Satan can go into battle, his angel – stolen from Heaven – by his side. Aziraphale ponders it a moment longer before sticking out his hand across the table toward Crowley. Crowley reaches forward and takes his angel’s hand in his own. They shake hands and Crowley’s thumb strokes gently across the back of his angel’s hand. “We’ll be Godfathers. Of a sort. If we do it right he won’t be evil. Or good. Just be normal.”

He thinks back to his...pregnancy. And all the times he had to shove the thoughts of raising his son with Aziraphale from his mind and realizes that...he’s going to get to do so. He doesn’t know if he is thankful or not for the opportunity.

The next day the Dowling’s are settling into their official London residence. And an ad goes out for a nanny and a gardener. He meets with his angel to decide which job to each claim. He intends to be a gardener. As he doesn’t want to spend any more time with the little parasite than he has to.

“But, Crowley. The Dowling’s are very traditional. They won’t accept a male nanny. And you are so much better at the feminine form than I am. Besides,” his angel has a look in his eye that Crowley doesn’t like. “I’ve already been given the job.”

Crowley glares at him. His stare that can reduce damned souls to cowering and pleading, and his angel smiles at him and pats his hand and Crowley turns his hand around to close around the angel’s and Angel smiles again and gently squeezes his hand.

“I suppose that means I’m a nanny.” He says his voice soft and sickly sweet and inside is seething. “I should go apply.”

“You should.”Angel says and reluctantly lets go of Crowley’s hand.

And so Crowley takes on his feminine form, as Angel is right, the Dowling’s would not be alright with a male nanny. He dresses sharply and strides up to the door of the Dowling’s residence with a suitcase and an umbrella. He didn’t know much about being a nanny but he had seen Mary Poppins. It was not what he would consider good entertainment, too little blood and screaming.

As it turns out he is the only applicant for the job and gains it with little trouble. He is immediately put to work and Mrs. Dowling hands him his own squalling son. He holds the child awkwardly for a moment before his hands move into a more comfortable position. The infant quiets almost immediately as if recognizing him from the night before. Crowley finally has a chance to actually look at the...his son. He notices small things about it at first. The button nose. The blue eyes. And the blond hair. Still a little Aryan. And the look still looks better on his angel. But there is something about the child that calls to him. But something also feels off. He puts it down to being uncomfortable as a nanny.

The feeling grows as the child grows. He and Aziraphale take turns giving the child good and evil advice. And the child is normal. Abnormally normal. He spends quite a bit of time with his angel but almost always with the child. Except on their days off. On their days off they meet. They meet in museums, and on buses, and in parks, and at shows and concerts. And Aziraphale is more and more open with him. Especially in his Nanny Ashteroth form. It reminds Crowley of the middle ages. Of tempting him into winning a tournament for him, her. He doesn’t feel very feminine this time. More for the humans than for himself.

But his angel, he sits close to him and their hands brush as they walk. And neither of them pull away. Crowley thinks this may be it. His angel may finally choose him. But while their hands brush, the angel never grabs a hold. They sit close together in the theatre and while Crowley’s hand finds its way onto his angel’s thigh frequently, the angel never reacts.

It is frustrating. Time is running out. Unless this scheme of theirs to neutralize the Antichrist is successful. But something is wrong. The child is too normal. Something is off. But when he is ordered to check in with Hell about the child he tells them he is fantastically evil. They ask about his deeds and Beelzebub enquires about the opposition. And Crowley tells them that nobody suspects a thing. Which is a blatant lie. Everyone knows that the Antichrist has been born and who is raising him. But lying has always come so easily to him. It doesn’t even feel like a betrayal to lie to these demons. They are not the same as when they Fell. None of them are but they have stagnated years ago and Satan, he has moved on. He has a hobby and an angel. And a son. A son that asks him for lullabies and to be picked up and held. A son that begs for cuddles and kisses. A son that is trying very hard to get his nanny and Gardener together at the age of seven.

“Nanny?” his little parasite asks. “Why does Brother Francis look at you like that?”

“Like what, hellspawn?” He asks as he tucks the child into bed.

“Like he wants to kiss you.” And Crowley almost smirks.

“I think that is a question for Brother Francis. You should ask him tomorrow. Why don’t we get a picnic lunch together and eat in the garden and see if we can’t get you an answer, hm? Now, time for sleep, pest.”

“Yes, nanny.” Warlock says as he closes his eyes and Crowley softly closes the door as he leaves the room.

In the morning, Crowley follows through with his promise and together he and Warlock prepare a nice lunch of sandwiches and tea. With a strawberry pie for dessert. Home made with love.

It had taken Crowley years of trying to bake with Warlock for him to get the hang of it but even in the beginning, his angel would always try whatever it was that they had come up with and remark on how delicious it was. Even when Crowley could see him trying to miracle his taste-buds away. But they had it down to an art now. Warlock would do the stirring and Crowley would do the measuring and together they would taste it and then Crowley would put it into the oven. And while it bakes they would get together the things to make whatever kind of sandwich was on the menu for the day.

Today they were making cucumber sandwiches. With Crowley doing the cutting and Warlock piling the fillings on the bread. They are done by the time afternoon tea comes around and together they pack up the picnic basket and a blanket to sit on. And together, arm in arm, they head out to the garden to find themselves a gardener and some answers.

“Brother Francis!” Warlock screams coming up behind the man-shaped gardener. “Nanny and I made tea. You’ll eat with us, won’t you?”

Brother Francis, Angel, looks up to see the two of them with a red-and-white patterned blanket and a basket and grins.

“Why hello there, Young master Warlock, Nanny.” He greets them. “I would be delighted to take tea with you.” And saying so, sets down the watering can and moves to take the basket from Nanny. Handing over the basket to young warlock. Nanny and Brother Francis together spread out the blanket on the ground under a great hawthorn tree in the garden. And together the three set out to eat.

It’s sometime between Angel’s second and third sandwich when he has just taken a swallow of his tea that Nanny nods to Warlock to ask his question.

“Brother Francis, Why don’t you kiss Nanny like you want to?” and tea is spilt all over the rest of the sandwiches causing both Warlock and Nanny to giggle.

“Yes, Brother Francis, why don’t you give Nanny a kiss?” Nanny, Crowley, asks and Angel’s face turns red. “Warlock, why don’t you go play with your ball over there and let Nanny and Brother Francis talk?”

“Alright, Nanny. But then I get an answer?” He asks sweetly.

“Then you will get an answer.” and Warlock takes his ball to the side of the garden and starts to play.

“Nanny, Crowley, what in Heaven are you playing at having him ask me that?” Angel hisses once the Antichrist is out of hearing range.

“I didn’t put him up to anything. He asked me last night why you look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Angel stutters.

“Like you want to kiss me. Why do you, look at me like that, Angel?” Crowley asks, his Nanny voice soft and lilting.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Angel protests keeping his gaze averted.

“No one is watching us now.” he whispers. “Just a kiss, Angel. For the boy.” And it may be low to use his own son as a matchmaker but Satan has never been anything but a bastard.

“Crowley. I want to. I really do.” His gaze lowers to Crowley’s unnaturally red lips. “But I wouldn’t be able to stop. I wouldn’t want to stop. And it’s too dangerous. For the both of us.” He raises his gaze to Crowley’s and his smile is sad now.

“Angel.” He whispers. And then Warlock returns and his answer is, that Brother Francis looks at Nanny that way because she reminds him of someone very special and very dear. Warlock doesn’t ask again.

When it comes time for the child’s eleventh birthday, Angel and he are following the boy and his adoptive mother, watching them, discussing them. “Well, that’s that then.” Crowley says. He feels like he has failed completely. Angel is still an angel. His son is too normal. And he has spent eleven years trying to get into his angel’s pants only to be foiled at every turn. He had flirted both as himself and as Nanny Ashteroth. He had been coy and evasive. He had been straight forward. He had done everything short of actually stripping and mounting the man-shaped being.

“What next? How do we know if we’ve succeeded?”

“Wednesday. That’s when it begins. Or if we’ve done our jobs properly, doesn’t begin. The hell-hound will be the key. Shows up at three on Wednesday, at his birthday.”

“You haven’t actually mentioned a hell-hound before.” Angel says a bit angrily.

“Well, they’re sending him a hell-hound, to pad by his side and guide him from all harm. Biggest one they’ve got.” Crowley says, still watching his son insult the dinosaurs around them. He hadn’t approved the release of a hell-hound but Beelzebub had quite taken control of everything and the only thing Satan could do was sign the paperwork xe sent. It wouldn’t do to have uncomfortable questions asked about why he was trying to stand in the way of Armageddon.

“Won’t people remark on the sudden appearance of a big black dog? His parents, for a start.” Angel asks, turning towards him.

“Nobody’s going to notice anything. It’s reality, angel. And young Warlock can do what he likes with that whether he knows it or not. It’s the start of it all. The boys meant to name it: Stalks by Night or Throat-Ripper or something like that.” If he did, Crowley had serious words for him about creativity. “But if you and I have done our job, properly, he’ll send it away, unnamed.”

“And if he _does_ name it?”

“Then you and I have lost. He’ll have all his powers, and Armageddon will be days away.” he answers truthfully. It seemed like everything was going according to Her Plan. And he hated it. Not the idea of Armageddon but the idea of following Her Plan for it.

“There must be a way of stopping it.” Angel says and Crowley has a delicious idea.

“If...there were no boy, then the process would stop.”

“But there is a boy. He’s over there writing a rude word on a description of a dinosaur.” Angel says confused.

“There is a boy now. But that could change.” He looks to his angel to see a blank face. “Something could happen to him.” His angel’s face screams ‘does not compute.’ He nearly sighs at the obliviousness of his angel. “I’m saying you could kill him.”

Angel looks stunned. Then sick. “I’ve never actually killed anything before. I don’t think I could.”

“Not even to save...everything?” Crowley whispers. “One tiny life against the universe?”

Aziraphale pauses. He pauses so long Crowley thinks he may have turned to stone. His angel’s throat is working but no sound is coming out and there are tears in his eyes. Crowley thinks this may be it. The way to get him to Fall. The murder of an innocent. But suddenly Angel’s head shakes violently back and forth.

“No,” and it’s strangled, choked off sound. “The hell-hound. It will show up at his birthday party?” and his voice is still thick with emotion.

“Yes,” Crowley nearly sighs.

“Well then, we should be there. Maybe...Maybe I can stop the dog. In fact…” his face lights up and Crowley’s stomach drops. “I could...entertain.”

“No,” and this time it’s Crowley’s voice that is strangled. “No please, no.”

Angel flexes his fingers and wiggles his fingertips. “I’d just need to get back into practice.” He reaches into his pocket for a coin. And finding one tries out his sleight of hand trying to palm the coin, making it appear and disappear from between his fingers. It’s not working.

“Please don’t do your magic act.” Crowley begs. “Please. I am begging you and you have no idea how demeaning that is.” Satan does not plead with anyone. But his angel.

Angel stands and tries to pull the coin from behind Crowley’s ear and drops it.

“It was in your finger.”

“It was in your ear.”

“It was in your pocket and then…”

“It was near your ear.”

“It was never anywhere near my ear.”

“You are no fun.” his angel says sitting again.

“Fun? It’s humiliating. You can do proper magic, you can make things disappear.

“But it’s not as fun.”

“I’ll make you disappear.” Crowley mutters and has no intention of following through, not against his angel.

They spend the time between Sunday and Wednesday getting the booked caterers and entertainment to cancel and coming in at the last moment with miraculous replacements.

Crowley as a waiter and his angel, his angel as a magician. Crowley sighs. Crowley is standing near the large cake while his angel, his angel, is up on stage in a one hundred and fifty year old Victorian era suit and trying to occupy the many eleven year olds seated on the ground before him. Crowley is suffering second degree humiliation but inside is seething. The angel is doing his best and these children, these humans who wish they could be worthy enough to experience true angelic magic are laughing at _his_ angel. But it is three o’clock and there is not a hell-hound to be found. Not even a hell-gerbil, despite the red eyes on the thing in the cage by the present table.

Suddenly there is a food fight breaking out and Crowley is not sure how but rather relieved to be able to escape with the angel out of the party and to his Bentley.

“It was all rather a disaster, I’m afraid.” And that’s the understatement of the century.

“Nonsense. You gave them a party to remember. Last one any of them will ever have mind.” He tells him instead. No need to cause angel to cry again.

“It’s late.” Angel says pulling the dead dove that was supposed to be the astonishing end of a trick out of his sleeve.

“Comes of putting it up your sleeve.” Crowley says, pretending not to know what he is talking about, while he opens the driver door to the Bentley and turns on the radio.

“The hell-hound. It’s late.”

Crowley looks at the dove and then at angel and snaps the dove back to life. Angel gives a blinding smile and gets into the passenger seat just as the radio cuts to...

“Hello Crowley. Is something wrong?”

“Um. Hi. Who is this?” Crowley asks not recognizing the garbled voice coming through the radio.

“Dagon. Lord of the Files. Master of Torments.” Ah...them. Not any more imaginative than a dead toad. Again, why were his people all incompetent?

“Yeah. Just checking in about the hell-hound.”

“He was released minutes ago. He would be with you by now. Why? Has something gone wrong, Crowley?” And Dagon sounds too pleased if that is the case.

“Not at all. Ah there he is. Great big Hell-hound. Great work down there guys. Nice talking to you.” He flips off the radio violently.

“No dog.” Angel says looking all around the area.

“No dog.” Crowley agrees.

“Wrong boy.” Angel says.

“Wrong boy.” Crowley agrees. Fuck. 


	9. Wednesday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens Wednesday after the birthday party.

How could it be the wrong boy? Satan delivered the baby himself. In all manners of the word. He had the baby himself. He took it to the nuns. They had gotten the child. And they were supposed to make the switch. Did they betray him? He’s never really approved of Satanists. Too eager to please and just as stupid. But Beelzebub had trusted them. Had Beelzebub betrayed him? No, xe was too loyal to do something so stupid. No, someone had messed up and he was going to find out who. He had sung lullabies to the wrong Damned kid. Someone was going to die.

How does Satan misplace his own son? It’s ridiculous to think about but he had known, hadn’t he? He recognized something off about the child as soon as he held him in his arms as Nanny Ashteroth. He knew the child to be too abnormally normal. And looking back. His son had the exact same shade of grey blue eyes as his angel. This child did not. In fact as they grew older. This, this, Warlock – and again how stupid of a name, the nuns had suggested it he was sure – But this Warlock, his eyes had grown darker and darker until they were a nice chestnut brown. No child of his would have brown eyes. His normal eyes as an angel were a striking turquoise blue. No. It was obvious in hindsight from the very beginning that this was the wrong child. He should have known.

Oh, well. It was too late now to do anything about it. It wasn’t even about the child. But about getting his angel to Fall. And it seems the best way to do that is to get him to go against the Divine Plan and stop Armageddon. It’s not like seducing the angel was doing much to make him Fall.

The drive from Warlock’s party to the backroom of the bookshop is silent. Angel’s fretting nearly palpable. Once at the bookshop, Angel takes the opportunity to pour a generous glass of expensive scotch for the both of them as Crowley collapses into a chair.

“Armageddon is days away and we’ve lost the Antichrist. Why did the powers of Hell have to drag me into this anyway?” Crowley laments taking the glass held out to him. And it was true. Beelzebub and Hastur had dragged him into this in ways he never wanted to be dragged, the self-important shits.

“Don’t quote me on this but I think it has something to do with all those memos you sent back down saying how amazingly well you were doing.” His angel says wryly.

“Is it my fault they never check up? I’m to blame, they never check up? Anyway everyone stretches the truth a bit in memos to head office.” Even if he didn’t have to do much stretching.

“Yes, but you told them you invented the Spanish Inquisition and started the second World War…” And Crowley resists a smirk of satisfaction.

“So the humans beat me to it. I’d have gotten around to it eventually.” He pauses, sniffing the air. Something of great evil has come into existence. It’s great and powerful and feels familiar and foreboding. Smells of great evil. His son has come into his power. “Something's changed.”

“It’s a new cologne. My barber suggested it…” Angel says and while usually Crowley would listen to him he has to interrupt this time.

“Not you. I know what you smell like.” And it’s true. His angel smells like sunlight and the sea. A hint of tea and book glue and musty pages. “The hell-hound has found its master.”

“Are you sure?” Angel asks, lifting his glass to his lips.

“I felt it. Would I lie to you?”

“Well, obviously. You’re a demon it’s what you do.” Angel says plainly. And Crowley’s chest clenches in something like anger but could be hurt.

“Well, I’m not lying.” Though he wishes he were. “The boy, wherever he is, has the dog. He’s named it. We’re doomed.” And Crowley wants nothing more than to take his angel down to Hell and prepare to fight. He considers whether it is even worth it at this point to continue to try to get his angel to Fall or if it would be easier to just kidnap him and chain him to his bed in Hell and ensure that they won the war. He could have all of eternity with his angel in his bed if he did. But at this point he recognizes it’s a matter of pride to make his angel his. To be chosen by his angel.

“Well then, welcome to the End Times.” his angel says and Crowley looks across at his angel and knows he will stick by him and make him Fall by averting the Apocalypse. He can do nothing else. But thoughts of his angel tied down, his brilliantly white wings dishevelled from struggling has brought certain parts of his human body to attention.

“Yes. Well, I suppose if we only have a few days left there isn’t much to be worried about in either of our destructions.” Crowley says nonchalantly. And Aziraphale looks puzzled.

Crowley reaches across the table between them and takes hold of Angel's wrist. “Angel, If...If we don’t get out of this,” He begins.

“We will, Crowley. I have faith in us.” His angel says turning his hand over to hold Crowley’s own in a loose embrace. _And that’s lovely angel but not what I’m going for._ Crowley thinks bitterly.

“I don’t want any regrets between us, Angel.” Crowley says his voice low and soft.

“I don’t either, dear boy.” Angel says lovingly.

“Then say yes, Angel.” he whispers, bringing his angel’s hand to his lips and running the soft flesh of his angel’s hand against his own soft lips. He takes to kissing each finger nibbling a little of the soft flesh of the pads. And Angel’s eyes are blown wide. He gives a whimper as Crowley takes one of his fingers into his mouth and sucks, lightly hollowing his mouth around the digit and swirling his tongue around the tip. “Tell me what you want. Anything at all.” he breathes blowing lightly against the wet finger he had been sucking on lightly.

“I…” Angel begins and Crowley thinks, _finally. Finally he’ll say yes and we can prepare for Armageddon._ “Crowley,” Angel’s voice is strangled. “Please,” he whispers.

“I need you to say it, Angel.” Crowley says softly, barely a whisper.

“Let’s just… Slow down?” Angel whispers brokenly. Crowley freezes his lips opening around his angel’s fingers. And then he flinches as if hit. And drops the hand in his grasp.

“I don’t know how much slower I can go for you, angel. 6000 years of slow. What do you want from me?” Crowley says sadly, preparing to leave.

“Crowley,” His angel’s voice is broken and he remembers the first time he was in this shop and making his angel cry then too. “I don’t want you to leave. Please. Stay.”

And with his angel’s voice so broken, how can he say no? So Crowley pauses and his angel reaches out for his hand and tugs gently until Crowley is standing in front of a sitting Aziraphale. His angel is looking up at him with such scared devotion in his eyes. Terrified. And Crowley’s chest aches something fierce. But Aziraphale is not turning away from him.

“Just. Slow.” Angel whispers, his hand playing with Crowley’s. “I can’t… but we can hold each other. For a little while. Please.”

Instead of answering, Crowley takes his free hand and digs into Aziraphale's hair, massaging his scalp gently. His hand coming down to cup his angel's cheek, his thumb brushing against the angel’s parted lips. “Oh Angel, what you do to me.” Crowley whispers.

Aziraphale smiles brilliantly at him, still sad but also so happy to be in Crowley’s arms. “If we are going to do this, let’s be comfortable.” He says happily and Crowley nods silently and takes a step back to allow him to stand. Aziraphale, never letting go of Crowley’s hand, leads him back to the settee and together they settle onto it. Aziraphale curled right up to Crowley’s side. His head resting gently on Crowley’s chest. “Just… for a little while?” And brings Crowley’s hand up around his shoulder and kisses the palm.

Crowley stays as still as possible. The feeling of the angel in his arms just as good as the times before but this time heavier, weighted with something indescribable. Love, or something like it. Slowly he raises his arm to run through his angel's hair and Aziraphale gives a happy sigh and burrows deeper into Crowley’s arms. Slowly the light dims and the store lights are the only ones on. They sit that way through the night and into the morning. Slowly his angel pulls away with a discontented sigh. And Crowley lets him go.

“I suppose I should at least try to open the shop.” his angel says miserably.

“I suppose.” Crowley agrees and moves to stand. His angel’s hand on his knee stops him.

“I do want to, Crowley. I just can’t.”

Crowley just sighs. “Right. Of Course. Right. Can’t be seen to love a demon. Who would?” And he stands before his angel can say another word and leaves.

Once he gets home, he is doubting himself. Angel had obviously wanted to. What was stopping him? Fear still? “I’ll have him. I’ll have him or nobody will. If he doesn’t Fall, I will kill him in this war.” He says to the empty room and even he knows it is a lie.

He wanders into his office with his desk and a throne like chair. He does so enjoy his throne if not the responsibility that comes with it. He picks up the phone and debates calling his angel a moment. Before sitting down on his throne and turning on the television. The news is on and suddenly the News is on and Hastur and Ligur are on television. He’s inordinately glad to not have the ultra high definition television yet. He does not need to see Hastur or Ligur’s pores. Or the literal shit on their faces.

“Morning, Crowley.” Hastur greets.

“Just checking in. Nice chair.” Ligur comments, if he notices it is modelled after the one in Hell he doesn’t say anything, which he would. And so Crowley is sure he hasn’t noticed.

“Hey, guys.” Crowley greets them back.

“It’s about the Antichrist.” Ligur says.

“Yeah. Great kid. Takes after his dad.” he lies. He has no idea where his son is or even if he takes after him or not. He hopes he does. Strange as that thought may be but he wants his son to be imaginative and nothing like the rest of the demons in Hell.

“Our operatives in the state department have arranged for the child’s family to be flown to the Middle East.” Hastur tells him and he wonders why they feel the need to keep a no name demon in the loop. It’s nice to be included but unnecessary on their end. Crowley’s job is done. Satan already has read the report from Beelzebub as he has his reports sent straight to him as soon as they are set on his infernal desk.

“There he and the hell-hound will be taken to the valley of Megiddo.” Ligur continues. And Crowley idly wonders how close these two Dukes are to finish each other's sentences. Everyone had changed after the Fall. All those who Fell who used to be friends in Heaven no longer considered anyone a friend. It had happened slowly over time. But even Satan is proof that somehow the ties of Heaven could no longer hold them once they Fell.

“The Four Horsemen will begin their final ride. Armageddon will begin.” Hastur finishes triumphantly.

“Yeah,” Crowley cheers unenthusiastically.

“The final combat. What we have been working for since we rebelled. We are the Fallen. Never forget that.” Hastur warns him threateningly.

“Not the sort of thing you forget.” Crowley says and inside he is seething.

“I don’t trust you, Crowley.” Hastur growls.

“Obviously. We’re demons.” Crowley tells him. Not trust him? Correct him? Hastur has just been added to the shit list of people he will kill. Gabriel, Beelzebub, and Hastur. Not a long list. But an important one.

“I’ve been reading your report on CIA torture practices. And the one from the Spanish Inquisition. If anything goes wrong, it’s going to be one from column A, one from column B, repeat until squishy.” Ligur adds. And That’s number four. Gabriel, Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur.

“Everything is going just fine,” he lies. He is not about to ruin his 6000 year streak of living a double life and let these buffoons know he spent eleven years raising the wrong child and didn’t know it. _But you did know it._ A voice whispers in his head and it sounds like She did years ago.

Suddenly the phone rings and he’s not sure he wants to talk to his angel just yet. He lets it go to voicemail. And he hears his angel’s voice after his intro message plays. “Hello, Crowley? Is this on? It’s me. No leads yet at my end. Anything at your end? Listen, I had a sort of an idea…” And Crowley can’t let his angel go without knowing what his idea is. So he picks up his phone in a sudden burst of movement.

“What?” Crowley asks irritably.

“Well I was just wondering… Could there have possibly been another baby?”

“WHAT?” Crowley nearly screeches.

“Could there have been another baby? At the hospital?”his angel asks again. And Crowley is speechless. “Should… Crowley, should we check?” his angel asks hesitantly.

“Yes, I’ll pick you up.” Crowley says and hangs up. He reaches the bookshop in record time and his angel is waiting at the door with a thermos and a tin of biscuits. He climbs quickly into the Bentley and they take off through downtown London.

“I brought us a little something in case we get peckish.” his angel says and Crowley nods his head as Angel turns to place the tin on the back seat. “So, you’ve lost the boy.”

“We’ve lost.” Crowley says.

“A child has been lost. But you still know.”

“We know.” Crowley insists. He can’t be the only one active in this. His angel has to be the one to stop the child if there is any chance of him Falling for this.

“His age. His birthday. He’s eleven. There’ll be records. There’s always records. Everyone keeps records. You – alright, we – just have to look for them. You can remember the hospital?” Angel asks.

“You make it sound easy.”

“How hard can it be? I just hope nothing’s happened to him.” Angel frets.

“Happened to him? Nothing’s happened to him. He happens to everything!” Crowley insists. The only way to stop him is for his angel to kill the child. Then his angel can Fall and Armageddon can be restarted, or not. As long as he has his angel, Satan is perfectly happy with the way things have been going on.

“So all we’ve got to do is find the birth records. Go through the hospital files.” Angel says.

“And then what?” Crowley asks. His idea from before with Warlock is even more necessary now.

“Then we find the child.”

Crowley pauses meaningfully. “And then what?” He asks pointedly. “I don’t suppose you would reconsider with a different kid that we _haven’t_ raised?” Crowley asks.

Aziraphale doesn’t respond. Crowley looks over and his angel has a pained look on his face.

“Where is this hospital?” Angel asks eventually.

“A village near Oxford, Tadfield.”

“Crowley, you can’t do ninety miles an hour in central London!” Aziraphale says making note of how quickly he has been driving.

“Why not?” Crowley asks, taking his hands from the wheel to needle his worry wart of an angel.

“You’ll get us killed! Inconveniently discorporated. Music! Why don’t I put on some music? What’s a Velvet Underground?”

“You wouldn’t like it.” Crowley enjoyed it but his angel still considered Beethoven the height of music.

“Ah. Be-bop.” his angel says and Crowley rolls his eyes and drives faster.

The rest of the drive is taken with Crowley wondering how it would be to pull over and have his angel in the Bentley. Not the first time he had imagined such a scenario but now that time was running out, he found thoughts of ravishing his angel took up more and more of his time. As they got out of London and on a more open road, Crowley took the hand closest to his angel off the wheel and placed it high up his angel’s thigh. And his angel does not remove it. Nor does he comment on it. Nor does he do anything else that Crowley would like him to do. But he doesn’t push it off. Crowley’s thumb rubs tight circles on his angel’s leg and then, Angel’s hand is on top of his. Not removing his hand but covering it with his own.

“This is the way to Tadfield manor. Does it look familiar?” Angel asks him. With their hands still entwined together on Angel’s thigh.

“You know it does. I think there’s an airbase around here somewhere.” Crowley admits.

“Airbase?”

“You don’t think American diplomats’ wives usually give birth in little religious hospitals in the middle of nowhere, do you? It all had to seem to happen naturally. There’s an airbase at Lower Tadfield, things started to happen, base hospital isn’t ready yet. Our man there says, ‘There’s a birthing hospital just down the road.’ And there we were. Rather good organisation.” Crowley says. He had read through Beelzebub’s reports of that night looking for somewhere things had cocked up.

“Flawless.” Angel says sarcastically.

“It should have worked.” Crowley protests.

“Ah but evil always contains the seeds of its own destruction. No matter how well—planned, how foolproof an evil plan, no matter how apparently successful it may seem upon the way, in the end it will founder upon the rocks of iniquity and vanish.”

“For my money it was just an ordinary cock-up.”

They reach Tadfield and Crowley pulls up in front of a very familiar looking building. It looks slightly different and there are expensive looking cars parked in front but it is definitely the same place.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Angel asks as they step out of the car. “This place doesn’t look like a hospital… And it feels loved.”

“No it’s the right place. How do you mean? Loved?”

“I mean the opposite of when you say, ‘I don’t like this place it feels spooky.’” Aziraphale says seriously.

“I never say that. I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me. Let’s go talk to some nuns.” And Crowley starts walking up to the building.

They have just walked through the front gate when two shots ring out and a stinging pain hits him right over his heart and the angel beside him drops. _No!_ If someone has killed his angel, he will kill everyone in this hospital and charge Heaven’s gates himself. He drops beside his angel and that’s when he notices the blue on his angels' nearly two hundred year old coat. As he is helping his angel sit up, he notices a human coming up to them saying something about being shot and playing a game. He abruptly rifles through the man’s head to find out he is deathly afraid of snakes. He lets his second form burst out of his head and back when the man faints.

“That was fun.” Crowley says eyeing the prone man and wondering if Angel will notice if he stops the man’s heart.

“Yes fun for you. Just look at the state of this coat. I’ve kept it in tip top condition for over a hundred and eighty years now. I’ll never get this stain out.” Angel grumbles as Crowley helps him to his feet.

“You could miracle it away.” Crowley says.

“Yes. But, I’d always know the stain was there. Underneath. I mean.” And his angel is pouting. Crowley gives him a deadpan look, rolls his eyes and with a breath of air the paint is dissolving into the air. “Oh, Thank you.” He says happily. And bends to pick up the gun the human had dropped when he fainted. “This gun, Crowley. I’ve looked it over. It’s not a proper one at all. It just shoots paintballs.”

“Don’t your lot disapprove of guns?” Crowley asks instead of commenting.

“Unless they are in the right hands. Then they lend weight to a moral argument. I think.” Angel tells him.

“A moral argument? Really?” He laughs and takes the gun. “Come on.” When he sets down the gun it’s a real one.

Walking through the front door brings back memories for Crowley and he takes a brochure of the manor but there is nothing in it that says it used to be a hospital.

“This is definitely the place but this is definitely not a hospital.” Crowley tells his angel. “I wonder where the nuns went.” Suddenly they are being passed by another woman dressed in combat gear.

“”Who’s winning?” She asks as she sprints away from them.

“You are all going to lose.” And with a snap the sound of actual gunfire sounds from outside. Crowley continues to lead his angel around the hallways.

“What the Hell did you just do?” Angel demands.

“They wanted real guns so I just gave them what they asked for.” Crowley responds.

“You mean they are killing each other out there?” Angel asks as they wander up to the second floor.

Crowley sighs. “No nobody is killing anyone. They are all having miraculous escapes.” He feels like screaming but his angel would be… disappointed, if anyone died.

“You know Crowley. I’ve always said you were really quite a nice…”

Satan snaps. He grabs his angel roughly and shoves him bodily against the wall, shocking his angel into silence. But his angel doesn’t look afraid. Time to change that.

“I am not nice. I am never nice. Nice is a four letter word I will not have used to…”

“Pardon me, gentlemen.” A voice interrupts him. “Sorry to break up an intimate moment. But can I help you?”

Crowley recognizes that face. It’s the bloody nun he wanted to kill. She also recognizes him if her wide eyed stare and backing away is any indication. He snaps and she freezes in place hypnotized. Crowley turns back to face his angel and sees him staring at his lips. Crowley pushes him farther against the wall and moves his knee between his angel’s thighs. They are flush together and Crowley’s dick gives an interested twitch.

“Ask me?” He whispers nearly already kissing his angel.

“Crowley,” Angel swallows. “You didn’t have to do that.” He answers back but the way he is leaning into Crowley says that he is very interested.

“She’ll be fine.” Crowley assures him. “Ask me.” He says once more.

His angel’s face is scant millimetres away from his own but then his angel blinks and backs up as far as the wall will allow him to. “We should get going soon.”

Crowley gives a growl of frustration and pulls away. He moves over to the stunned woman as his angel puts himself back to rights and moves to join him.

Angel asks the questions as he will be nicer about it. Starting with, “Were you by any chance a nun here at this hospital eleven years ago?”

“I was.” She answers immediately.

“Luck of the devil.” his angel says lowly with a smirk and Crowley does a double take. He doesn’t know, does he? Of course he doesn’t.

Crowley growls again. “What happened to the baby I gave you?”

“I swapped him with the son of the American Ambassador. Such a nice man. He used to be Ambassador to Swindon.”

“The American Ambassador. Where did he come from? What did he do with the baby?” Crowley demands

“I don’t know.”

“Records!” Angel asks “There must have been records.”

“Yes. Lots of records. We were very good at keeping records.”

“Well, where are they?” Angel asks. 

“Burned in the fire.”

_Hastur_ , Crowley thinks. _You are going to die twice_.

“Is there anything you remember about the baby?” Angel enquires.

“He had lovely little toesie-woesies.” And Crowley almost kills her despite Angel standing there.

“Let’s go, angel.”

Aziraphale pauses to tell the human, “You will wake having dreamt of whatever you like best.” And Crowley grabs his elbow and drags him away. As they make their way down to the car to leave they pass through the police and other humans.

“You’d think he’d show up somehow. You’d think we could detect him in some way.” Angel is saying.

“He won’t show up. Not to us. Protective camouflage. He won’t even know it but his powers will keep him hidden from prying occult forces.” Crowley tells him.

“Occult forces?”

“You and me.”

“I’m not occult. Angel’s aren’t occult, we're ethereal.”

“Whatever,” Crowley growls, his patience thin at having not killed anyone, like that wretched nun. He knew he should have killed her and found another more competent nun the first night.

They climb back into the Bentley and Crowley begins to drive away. Aziraphale puts his hand palm up on the seat between them and Crowley, feeling irritated, refuses to take the invitation until they are well on the road and Angel’s hand has closed up on itself.

“Is there some other way of locating him?” Angel asks, a smile in his tone.

“How the Heaven should I know? Armageddon only happens once, you know. They don’t let you go round again until you get it right. But I know one thing. If we don’t find him it won’t be the war to end all wars. It will be the war to end everything.” Crowley reiterates. Hoping that pushing the angel now will lead to an easier time of him killing the boy once they find him.

It’s as they are driving down the lane in the middle of the woods that Crowley hears a bang. And a thump. Someone has hit his Bentley.

He stops the car abruptly.

“You’ve hit someone.” Angel says.

“I haven’t. Someone’s hit me.” Crowley insists. And they both get out of the car.

“Let there be light.” Angel says snapping and causing a bright glow in the immediate area.

A murmured, “How did you do that?” Causes Crowley to snap the light back off and Angel to look guilty for a moment.

Crowley ignores the human and his angel and instead focuses on the Bentley. There is a scratch down the side and a broken headlight. He wants to tear the woman apart but refrains. And running his hand along the side of the car repairs the damage easily. But it's the principal of the thing. She ran right out into the road. It would serve her right to have been killed.

He goes to stand by the driver’s door as the angel helps the woman up to the road and the waiting car.

“We are not giving her a ride. There's no where to put the bike.” he protests at the angel’s questioning of where she is trying to get to No. Not a chance.

“Except the bike rack.” And Crowley turns to look at the back of the car where there is a very familiar tartan patterned bike rack. Crowley inhales deeply to rein in his temper.

“Fine,” he growls. “Where are we taking you?” He asks her, trying very hard to not be vicious about it.

“Back to the village. I’ll give you directions.” And the angel puts her in the back seat with all her belongings. They all climb in and she gives him the directions needed to get her back to the village.

Suddenly she speaks up. “My bike didn’t have gears. I know my bike didn’t have gears.”

“Oh, Lord, Heal this bike.” he whispers sarcastically.

“I got carried away.” Angel protests weakly.

“You can drop me off here.” She says and Crowley pulls to a stop and Angel helps her out of the car and her bike is sitting next to the fence sans gears. She has all her belongings in her arms and soon in the basket on her bike.

“No gears. Just a perfectly normal velocipede.” Angel tells her.

“Get in, Angel.” He says and soon they are back on the road.

The ride is taken in silence. Angel offers his hand again and Crowley takes it again. Until Angel asks “Dessert?”

And Crowley nods to let him know he will stop at the next available place. It’s late at night but they find a place still open and Crowley orders a coffee and Angel gets a cake. It’s as he is eating that Angel says, “Perhaps we could get another human to find him.”

“What?” Crowley asks, distracted by the moans his angel had been making and thoughts of making him moan louder. It’s getting even more frustrating touching his angel so innocently but not nearly enough of what he truly wants.

“Humans are good at finding other humans. They’ve been doing it for thousands of years. And the child is partly human,” Crowley feels like laughing. There is nothing human about that child. “Other humans may be able to sense him, perhaps.”

“He’s the Antichrist. He’s got an automatic defence. Or something. Suspicion will slide off him like… whatever it is water slides off of.” He’s not thinking well tonight.

“Got any better ideas? Or a single better idea?” Angel asks smugly. And Crowley glares at him. His usual stare and again what works against the legions of the damned has no impact on his angel. Made of sterner stuff, his angel. Crowley pays silently with another stolen card and they make their way into the car silently. His angel offers his hand and Crowley takes it again when what he wants to take is his angel. Throw him down and ravish him. Taste him and fuck him. He sighs.

They are approaching London, when Aziraphale speaks again. “Look. There’s something I should tell you. I have a… network of highly trained human agents. I could set them looking for the boy.”

“I have something similar. Human operatives.” Crowley admits.

“Should they work together?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly.

“Probably not. My lot are not very sophisticated, politically speaking.”

“No. Neither are mine. So we tell our respective operatives to look for the boy?” Angel asks.

“Ducks!” He remembers suddenly.

“What?” His angel asks, confused.

“That’s what water slides off of.”

“Just drive the car please.” Crowley rolls his eyes. He already is, Angel.

The rest of the drive is taken in silence. Crowley will several times lift his angel’s hand to his lips but always sets it down again on Angel’s thigh. Further and further up until it is practically in his lap.

When they reach the bookshop late at night, Aziraphale reaches into the back of the car for his tin of biscuits and exclaims, “There’s a book back there.”

“Not mine.” Crowley says getting out of the car himself.

“It must belong to that young woman you hit with your car.” Angel says.

“She hit me. No lights and riding straight into the road, She hit me.”

“Oh, jolly good. Yes.” His angel is not listening to him. Something has his attention and it’s not Crowley.

“Then we will ask our operatives to search for the boy?” he tries to get his angel’s attention back on him.

“Sorry?”

“Are you alright, Angel?” Crowley asks suspiciously.

“Perfectly. Yes. Tip-top. Absolutely tickety-boo.”

“Tickety-boo?” Crowley asks incredulously.

“Mind how you go.” And Angel isn’t inviting him in. Angel always invites him in. Something about that book had him in a fit. And Crowley hated it. But he climbs obediently back into the car after watching his angel enter the bookshop safely. He drives back to his flat in silence. 


	10. Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Crowely does on Thursday while Aziraphale is reading the Book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!!!
> 
> Please note this chapter has the fantasy of a rape scene. Please skip from one line of page breaks (~~~~~~) to the next if you would like to skip it. It has very little to do with the rest of the story just a look into Crowley's head and his fantasies of what he wants to do with his angel. But it is explicit. So, Fair Warning.

Reaching his flat is the easy part. But once he’s there he is restless. Angel didn’t invite him in. And Angel’s throw away comment about the luck of the devil. And Angel wanting to hold hands. And his son being missing. And Angel is not Falling. And he has an Armageddon to take part in. Beelzebub is sending report after report on their strengths and weaknesses and numbers and weapons and it’s giving him a headache just thinking about. Beelzebub also thinks he’s just holed up in the Palace torturing souls. And ignoring his responsibilities. He’s getting little notes along with the reports that xe is requesting he put in some shows for the others. If Angel wasn't going to invite him over, and it seemed he wasn’t maybe he should put in a showing downstairs.

Arriving in the royal bedroom, which he kept both because he loved sleep but also in the hopes of having an angel or a newly Fallen angel tied to it was a delicious and hopeful thought. He paused at it and inspected the infernal iron chains for wear. There shouldn’t be any but he wanted to inspect his toys. He debated replacing the infernal iron with traditional iron but knew that his angel would easily break human made iron chains but that the infernal would burn and ache at his wrists and ankles and around his neck.

As he tests the weight of each chain and the give in them, he imagines what it would be like to have the angel there right now. He wants. He wants to wrap his long fingers around the angels neck, to bring him to his knees. He wants to see the fear in those eyes as he learns who he has been saying no to for 6000 God be Damned years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He imagines bursting into the shop right then. Of Angel sitting with that wretched book he had found at his desk. Angel would jump up in surprise but would then smile nervously at him. Crowley would smile charmingly and stalk closer.

“Crowley, wh-what are you doing here?” Angel would ask.

“I’m so tired, Angel.” Crowley would say and it would be the truth. “I’m so tired of waiting for you to be ready. To be not afraid.” He would crowd his angel into the desk and Aziraphale would lean back nearly horizontal against the wood bumping into his stupid prophecy books and misprinted bibles.

“Cr-Crowley… dear boy, we can’t. I want to, too. But we can’t.” Angel would protest but Crowley would not accept that again.

“We can’t or you can’t?” Crowley would growl. “I’d probably get another commendation for seducing an angel.” And he would laugh at his own joke, a quiet chuckle full of malice.

“Crowley, what’s gotten into you?” his angel would be nervous as he should be.

“Crowley,” He would mock. “We can’t, Crowley. What if they destroy you? Maybe I don’t care what Heaven would or wouldn’t do. Maybe I just want you.” And he would take his angel's wrists in his too tight grip and lean forward pushing his angel hard into the wood behind him. He would lean into the crook of his angel’s neck and inhale the scent of him. And bite hard enough to cause Angel to cry out but not to break the fragile skin there. He would kiss it better. Licking and sucking a dark bruise into his angel’s throat.

“Cro-Crowley.” Angel would whimper, his hands trying to come up to grab at Crowley’s shoulders. Excepting the fact the Crowley would still have his hands pinned to the wood behind him.

“I’m not waiting anymore, angel.” Crowley would growl.

“I… please, Crowley.” Angel would beg and Crowley would ignore it in favour of tangling his hand in his angel’s hair and tugging his head back to look up at him. Crowley would see desire in those eyes. And fear. And lust. He would eye those lips hungrily before moving in. Slotting his mouth against his angel’s and swallowing his angel’s whimper of desire. He would kiss him with 6000 years of pent up desire, of hate and jealousy, of lust and desire. He would pour every ounce of frustration into that kiss.

He would let go of Angel’s other hand to wrap around his waist. Pulling his angel flush against his own lithe body. He would make sure Angel could feel the growing evidence of his desire. And Angel would groan in protest and try to pull away. He would let his angel’s lips go to nip and suck at the hollow of his throat.

“Crowley, please. Stop.” Angel would beg.

And Crowley would take deep pleasure in growling against his throat “No.”

Angel would whimper again in desire or fear he doesn’t know. And at his point he doesn’t care.

His imagination getting ahead of him and Crowley pauses his fantasy to shuck off his trousers and lay down on the red silk sheets. His hand comes up to grip himself and he hits the play button on his fantasy once again.

Angel would whimper again in desire or fear he doesn’t know. And at this point he doesn’t care. He would let go of Angel’s waist and bring his hand up to wrap around his throat and guide his angel like that; one hand in his hair and one around his throat to the back room and the settee. He would push his angel to sit on the settee. Angel would definitely be afraid now.

“Crowley,” his voice would be a whisper. “Dear boy, please stop.” There would be tears in his eyes and Crowley would know he put them there.

Crowley would miracle off his trousers and watch as Angel’s eyes go wide at the sight of his already leaking member. “Do you want to taste, Angel? Little hedonistic thing like you, I bet you do. Don’t be shy.” And he would force his angel’s mouth open with his hand pressing behind his jaw.

Slowly he would feed his cock into his angel’s hot wet mouth. Inch by inch until he’s seated fully. His cock brushing the back of his angel’s throat he groans lowly. “No teeth there, angel. And you might want to do away with your gag reflex. I’m going to fuck your mouth now and you’re going to be a good little angel and take it. Do you understand?”

Angel would nod and try to swallow around his cock. And Crowley would reflexively thrust into the wet heat of his mouth at the constriction around his dick. “Good, angel.”

And he would thrust shallowly at first until his angel would get used to the sensation of his mouth being taken before he would begin to pull almost all the way out not giving his angel a chance to close his mouth. His angel’s mouth is so sweet. His hand tangled in his angel’s hair tightens and he pulls his angel off to gaze down at his dripping mouth, saliva and precome leaking out of his mouth and down his chin.

“You aren’t usually this sloppy an eater, Angel. I’m disappointed in you.” Is what he would say at seeing the mess his angel has become because of him.

“Cr…” Angel would try to speak his voice raw and wounded sounding, but Crowley would hush him.

“Hush, Angel.” He would say tenderly. Wiping the tears that would fall from his angel’s eyes away. “I still love you, even if you are a mess.” And his angel would give a sob, great and heaving. “Oh hush, Angel. It’s alright.” He would croon. And lean down to kiss the tears from his angel’s eyes.

“Crowley,” his angel would sob out between heaving breaths.

“Are you going to cooperate, Angel?” he would ask. And his angel would nod his head miserably.

“Good boy, angel.” he would praise. “Now, come now. Stand up. Let’s get you out of these clothes. We wouldn’t want to stain them. You worked so hard to keep them in pristine condition after all.” And his angel would stand as he gives him a hand up. Crowley’s hands would go to the buttons of his angel’s waistcoat and Angel would stand head down and tears streaming as Crowley slowly divests him, kissing each inch of revealed flesh, soft and creamy.

When his angel is standing naked in the backroom of his own store, Crowley would place his clothes gently on the coffee table and turn to face him.

“Oh, angel. You look even better than I imagined you.” He would praise him again. “Come here?” And he would open his arms invitingly. And his angel would slowly walk into his arms and Crowley would embrace him tenderly. And kiss his curls and run his hands gently down his sides and over his arms as his angel stands broken in his arms.

“Crowley,” his angel would whisper brokenly. And Crowley would tighten his hold as his angel’s arms came up to curl around his back. And the feel of soft tears on his chest would bring a smile to his face as Angel buries his head into his chest.

“I’m here, Angel. You’re mine.” Crowley would say and it would be true. Angel would want to just stand there both naked and pressed together but Crowley would still have other plans. And would slowly release his angel and step back.

“Angel,” he would say cupping his angel’s face in his hands and forcing the angel to meet his eyes. “I want to fuck you. Are you going to be a good angel and let me?”

“Crowley,” his angel would say, his eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Yes or no, Angel. It’s going to happen one way or the other. One will be pleasurable for you.”

Angel would nod his head as much as he can with Crowley’s hands around his face. “That’s a good angel,” he croons. His angel takes in a shaky breath.

“Lay down on the settee.” Crowley would direct. And lets his angel go. He would watch as Angel walks over to the sofa and lays down on his back, his hands fiddling together on his generous stomach. His hair is tousled and messy from Crowley’s hands in it, his chin still slick with spit, and his eyes red and puffy from crying. He would have never looked better in Crowley’s opinion.

Slowly, Crowley would approach and lift one of Angel’s legs over the back of the settee and put the other one on the ground so he can kneel between his angel’s thighs. One of Angel’s hands would come up to cover his eyes and the other for him to bite into trying to stifle his sobs.

“None of that now, angel. I want to hear you.” Crowley would say taking the hand from between his angel’s teeth and kissing the bitten flesh.

Angel would give another great sob and nod.

With a thought and a minor miracle, Crowley would have a bottle of lube in his hand and squirting some onto his fingers would place the bottle on his angel’s stomach in easy reach and with his slick hand, he would slowly insert one finger into his angel’s ass. Angel would jump at the coldness of the gel and tense.

“It’s alright, Angel. Just relax. I’m going to make this good for you. That’s it. Just relax.” and his angel would slowly grow used to the feeling of Crowley’s finger opening him gently. And slowly Crowley would move his finger thrusting in and out loosening the muscles of his Angel’s ass and getting more lube slipping in another finger. Moving like that and scissoring him open, it would be slow going, but Crowley is patient. He can take his time preparing his angel until he can fit four fingers comfortably in his angel’s ass and moving around searching for, ah, that. As his angel jumps and thrusts back on his fingers. His prostate. Slowly removing his fingers earns him a whimper of disappointment. And Crowley would smile, gently, lovingly.

Angel would be looking at him with trepidation but anticipation. And Crowley would not make him wait much longer. Another squirt of lube and the bottle would be tossed carelessly away. Only for this lube to be spread over his aching cock. And slowly Crowley would line himself up and push in, ever so slowly. Letting Angel get used to the feeling. The head would gently breach his angel’s ass and once in it would be smooth going for him to bottom out inside his angel. Finally after 6000 bloody years. It wouldn’t take long for his angel to grow restless. And start to squirm. And Crowley would let out 6000 years of frustration by slowly and gently starting to thrust.

Until he can hear his angel’s moans and groans of pleasure. The same noises he makes while eating the human’s food. The moans of a particularly delectable cake, the groans of a well seasoned roast, the little gasps of pleasure from a cup of perfectly made tea. Crowley has heard these sounds before and they are all he has to go on of how his angel will sound in the throws of passion.

Crowley would take his time. Building up his speed slowly the force of his thrusts bouncing his angel further up the settee and causing his angel’s arm to be thrown up over his head and to grab hold of the arm rest trying to stay in position.

“So good, angel. You feel so good.” Crowley would praise his angel repeatedly while chasing his end. His hand would wrap around his angel’s by now hard cock and stroking in time with his own thrusts, he would bring his angel to the brink with him and leaning down he would give his angel a sloppy kiss as his angel finishes, cumming in his hand, Angelic seed dripping down his hand and the constriction around his own cock enough to send him over the edge himself, spilling deep into his angel’s channel.

And Crowley finishes at the thought. His head thrown back and feet slipping against the red silk as he thrusts up into his own fist. He is panting as he comes down his hand working lazily around his flagging member.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Satan slowly sits up in his rumpled bed and eyes the chains at the head and foot. Infernal iron will work just fine. He puts himself to rights with a snap and in his Satan form, with blond hair and serpent eyes and a crown of bone, he heads out into the offices of Hell. Beelzebub is ecstatic to see him coming out of the royal wing. As ecstatic as xe ever is about anything as overworked as xe is.

“I’ve been reading your reports as you send them, Beelzebub. Good work. It seems you have everything in order to continue.” He greets xir.

“Sire, it is good to see you. It’s been years since you’ve been out of the royal quarters.” Beelzebub greets. “I have certainly tried to make you proud, Sire. The demon Crowley delivered the Antichrist successfully and he is being moved to the Valley of Megiddo Saturday. Until then, the troops would love to see you, Sire.”

“I would love to see them.” He lies expertly. And so he takes a stroll out through the upper offices and down through the hallways and lower offices. And everywhere he goes, demons bow down. He smiles viciously at them and they grin in triumph showing teeth. It’s almost time. And everyone knows it. He takes special care to search out Hastur and Ligur who are, as always, together though he takes even more special care to not seem as if he was searching them out. They bow as low as the rest and he pauses and eyes them with open hostility and they cower.

He finishes his trek through Hell and ends up back in front of the royal quarters where Beelzebub is waiting for him.

“Are things to your standards, Sire?” xir buzzes nervously.

Satan has not forgotten how Beelzebub placed him, placed Crowley, in charge of the baby. And xe probably thought xe was doing a favour for Satan’s inexplicable favourite demon. But he still wants to tear xir to pieces. He refrains but plans to put it to the test later once the child has been found and dealt with. Once his angel has Fallen for him.

Just to fuck with xir, he hums discontentedly. “Everything appears to be in order. I have more work to do to prepare myself for the final showdown. You will not see me again until The End.”

Xe swallows heavily. “Of course, Sire.”

And giving xir a hostile once over, he leaves back through the door to his personal office and into his bedchamber. He glares at the rumpled bed until it has put itself to rights and goes back up to his flat in Mayfair. It is Thursday. He has until Saturday to find his son. He tries to relax but can’t sit still. So he resolves to call his angel. He dials the number for the bookshop by memory. And waits until Angel answers the phone.

“Any news? Found the Antichrist yet?” he asks irritably. His fantasy earlier fantasy doing nothing to take the edge off his desire only serving to stoke it further.

“No! No news. Nothing at all. If I had anything I’d tell you. Obviously. We’re friends! Why would you even ask me?” Angel protests and Crowley thinks he doth protest too much. He squints his eyes in suspicion.

“Chill. I was just asking. No news here either. Well, they’re taking the wrong boy to Megiddo. But they’ll find out soon enough. Are you alright?” He questions. “Not, changing your mind? I’m free and available for whatever you want to do, Angel. But I would really love to be kissing you right now.”

Crowley hears a sharp inhale on the other side of the phone. “That’s not all I’d like to do with you. I’d like to taste you again. Your fingers were delectable but I want to know what every inch of your skin tastes like. Are you as sweet as I think you’d be? You eat so many desserts I think they’ve quite made you sweet to taste. The sugar on your lips from your cocoa.” He pauses and hears a shaky exhale.

“I want to run my hands under that waistcoat of yours you’ve been wearing for entirely too long. To pop open those buttons that have probably never been undone since you first put it on. I want to see you out of all those stuffy layers. I want to see you in all your glory and I want you to see me in mine. Do you know I’ve thought of you? I’m always thinking of you. But I thought of you earlier today and I want to make that come true. Would you? With me?” He asks lowly. “Say the word, Angel. Say yes and I will come to you. Where ever you are. No regrets, Angel.”

“Crowley,” Angel is panting slightly into the phone. “I… I will call you. As soon as I know anything.” There is a pause when Crowley thinks the angel may have hung up but there is no dial tone. “Crowley, I want to kiss you as well.” Comes so quietly he almost misses it. And then Angel hangs up.

Crowley blesses. “Again. Did you pour every ounce of discipline into this angel?” he asks rhetorically as he hangs his head. It’s only 3 o’clock in the afternoon but Crowley resolves to go back to bed. It doesn’t work. But he doesn’t give up and soon enough he is napping on the ceiling.


	11. Friday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday and the last full day of the world. Crowley calls on his angel one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE! Two chapters in one day but this one is a small chapter only because it won't fit in the previous or next chapter. So have the Bandstand!

Morning dawns as it always does. And Crowley has to meet with Shadwell and the Witchfinders today. He has a son to find. And a son to have murdered. His chest clinches at the thought though he can’t be sure why. He spends the morning in bed trying to work out what his angel is hiding from him. Something with the Antichrist he is sure.

It is late in the morning when he arrives at the ‘Best Cafe is Wandsworth’ and sits down to wait for the Witchfinder. He pulls out a copy of the Infernal Times and begins to read. It’s a load of tripe. Exorcisms on the rise which only affects those demons lazy enough and foolish enough to try to gain souls that way. It’s been proven to not work. It must be their own free will that damns them. They just like fucking around. He should send Beelzebub down a memo about that. They just aren’t… creative enough. He’s said it dozens of times before but it’s true. The more he looks at them the more disappointed he is in them. He’s beginning to wonder if they even can win the war if they aren’t even able to win against the humans.

Finally, Sergeant Shadwell arrives and he can be finished with this business and get back to how to get his angel to Fall.

“Sergeant Shadwell,” he greets as the man stands at the table.

“Mr. Crowley. You’re looking well.” Shadwell says.

“Clean living,” _Idiot._

“Your father, how is he? You resemble him very much, you know…” Shadwell continues. _I’ve been dealing with you since the sixties and you can’t even tell I’m the same person and not a father or son. You wouldn’t know a witch if they stood in front of you shouting WITCH._ It occurs to Crowley that he may be a bit on edge.

“So they tell me. He’s well.” He says instead of insulting the man he needs to find his missing son.

“I’ve prepared the ledger. The men need paying, your honour.” Shadwell says, pulling a large tome out of his bag. “It’s hard times for witchfinders in today’s degenerate age.” He tries to slide it over to Crowley who has not stopped reading his paper and Crowley makes an abortive move.

“Not necessary. Two hundred and fifty pounds. I’ll drop off the money for you on Saturday,” _If we make it that long._

“In cash, in an envelope. We don’t take plastic.” Shadwell says and Crowley knows he’s being taken for a fool but the man is useful in his way.

“You astonish me.” Crowley says genuinely.

“So…” Shadwell says putting the book away.

“There’s a village called Tadfield, in Oxfordshire. Send your best people down there. I’m looking for a boy. He’s about eleven. I don’t have anything more than that. But… look for anything… strange.” Crowley says eyeing the man through his sunglasses over the top of his paper.

“This boy. He’s a witch?” Shadwell asks excitedly.

“Possibly. We’ll have to find him first. Won’t we?” Crowley says lowly. And feels like smirking. He begins to stand and walk out.

“My best people, that would be Lieutenant Table and…” Crowley rolls his eyes. Table. As long as it gets done he doesn’t care about how the man functions.

“Call me if you find anything.” He makes the drive back to his flat. And it is turning to evening when he gets back. He paces his flat for a while but his angel is hiding something from him. He needs to know what it is.

He dials the bookshop phone and waits until the angel picks up. “It’s me. Meet me at the third alternative rendezvous.”

“Is that the old bandstand, the number 19 bus or the British Museum Cafe?” Angel asks and Crowley can tell he is out of sorts because they were Angel’s idea during one of his cold periods.

“The Bandstand. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” And he hangs up.

He gets there in ten minutes and the park may be locked but that is only an impediment to the humans. He checks his watch and Angel is… right there. Right on time.

“Any news?” Crowley asks.

“Um. What kind of news is that?” Angel defers.

“Well, do you have the missing Antichrist’s name, address and shoe size yet?” Crowley bursts out. He is angry and irritated. Angel is still and Angel the only two ways he has of getting him to Fall are to stop Armageddon by having him murder his son, or have Angel fuck him. And Time. Is. Running. Out.

“Shoe size? Why would I have his shoe size?” Angel laughs nervously. Guiltily.

“Joke. I’ve got nothing either.” He says suspiciously.

“It’s the Great Plan, Crowley.”

“For the record, great pustulent mangled bollocks to the Great Blasted Plan.” He hadn’t Fallen for following the Plan.

“May you be Forgiven!” Angel says sadly.

“I won’t be forgiven. Not Ever. That’s part of a demon's job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.” Crowley insists. It’s true. He is The Demon King. There is nothing he could ever do to be Forgiven even if he wanted to. Which he doesn’t. He quite likes what he is. Free.

“You were an angel once.”

“That was a long time ago. We find the boy….”

“And then what? Eliminate him?” Angel asks.

“Well...somebody does. I’m not personally up for killing kids.” low hanging fruit and Angel is the one that needs to Fall.

“You’re the demon. I’m the nice one. I don’t have to kill children.” Angle protests and Crowley thinks he may be pushing too hard.

“Uh-uh.” Crowley shakes his head.

“If you kill him, then the world gets a reprieve. And Heaven does not have blood on its hands.”

“Heaven? Heaven has all the blood on its hands angel. You just mean you won’t. That’s a bit holier than thou, isn’t it?” Crowley bites out. He needs to stop. Angel is too far pushed. He’s going to leave.

“I am a great deal holier than thou. That’s the whole point.” Angel says haughtily.

“Then you should kill the boy yourself. Holi-ly.” he says and smacks himself internally.

“I’m not killing anybody.”

“This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why I am still talking to you.” Crowley says.

“Frankly, neither do I,” and Angel sounds sad about it but mostly exasperated and pushed.

“Enough.” And Crowley turns on the spot. Not to leave but to think.

“You can’t leave Crowley. There isn’t anywhere to go.”

Crowley looks back at his angel and suddenly has him by the coat again and against the bandstand pillar. “Don’t go! First its no never, then it’s yes please, but never do you give yourself what you want. What I want. I’m getting tired of this game you are playing, Angel. We are out of time!” He looks up to see the stars out in force. He softens his gaze and looks back at his angel, eyes wide and hands gripping at Crowley’s hands. He looks scared. “Big universe. Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we could go off together.”

“Go off together?” Angel asks breathlessly.

Crowley stares at Angel’s lips as they move. He curses his dark glasses for once in his existence. One of his hands lets go of Angel’s coat and moves to take off his glasses. He puts them in his pocket. Angel swallows heavily. “Angel.”

“Crowley.” Angel’s voice is a whisper.

“We are running out of time. If I don’t kiss you now I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance. Don’t tell me no again. Please.” And Crowley doesn’t care if he is begging at this point. As long as Angel chooses him.

Angel swallows. “Just a kiss?” his voice is nearly gone just his lips moving with an exhale of breath.

“Oh, Angel, I want anything you’ll give me. Even if it’s just a kiss.” Crowley answers back. And it’s not even a lie this time. He’s been thinking and planning but somehow he started to really care and want this angel. She is laughing at him. And he doesn’t care so very much if Aziraphale will finally choose him.

Angel is deathly still. So long Crowley wonders if he will ever move again. But then there is a nod small and barely noticeable.

“Say it?” he asks.

“Kiss me, Crowley.” Angel begs breathlessly.

And Crowley does. It’s a barely there brush of lips before Angel moves against him and suddenly they are kissing. But there is a reservation in the way Angel kisses him. He moves and his tongue tangles with Crowley’s own but the passion is still pent up. Held in reserve. And Crowley backs away. His chest tight and hands letting go of his angel.

Angel looks up at him as he backs away. And Crowley can’t help but to shake his head. _We’ll try again when you mean it._ He wants to say but he fears there will never be a next time. He just shakes his head again and as Aziraphale reaches out a hand to him he turns away.

“I’m sorry, Crowley. But even if I knew where the Antichrist was I wouldn’t tell you. We’re on opposite sides.” Angel tells him sadly.

“We were on our side.” Crowley says still not turning around. And it's true. He thought they were on the same side at least. Even if he was trying to get his angel to Fall. He had thought of Angel as his for so long. The idea of not being an item together with him, it does something to him. Something he can't put a name to. Something he doesn't want to put a name too.

“There isn’t an ‘our side’, Crowley. Not any more. It’s over.” And he sounds like he is crying. But Satan can’t turn around this time to watch. His chest feels tight and cold and heavy.

“Right. Have a nice doomsday.” He says blankly and walks forward until he has passed the bandstand and keeps going. Leaving the park for his parked Bentley. He leaves for his flat and finds the last night of the existence of the world is a cold and lonely one.


	12. Saturday Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last morning of Existence. Crowley faces down his 'Boss' and loses his angel.

Saturday dawns bright and warm. Crowley has not slept a wink the whole night, replaying the bandstand with his angel and wondering if he has read the signs so wrong for so long. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like that. The angel was supposed to return his affections. They were supposed to fall into a blinding passion. The angel was supposed to Choose him and Fall, finally and forever. This… pain in his chest is not supposed to be there. This… pricking of his eyes is not supposed to be there. This… heat in his cheeks is not supposed to be there. But they are. And he hates it. And he hates the angel that put it there. But that’s another lie he tells himself.

He should be preparing for the final showdown but it feels so empty without his angel at his side. Why bother to fight if Angel isn’t going to be his. What if Angel gets hurt? What if one of the demons kills him? What if they lose? What if…? What if…?

Angel never wanted him. And should it really be such a surprise? Angel is so…Good. And Crowley, Satan is the epitome of Evil. Why would Angel want him? Satan is in love but only with his lust. Or so he had tried to convince himself. But somewhere along the way he had fallen in love. With the best angel she ever made. Her favourite. Her true favourite. And should that really be a surprise. An angel that can get Satan himself near to tears from rejection. Of course She would love him best. Forgive him best.

He resolves to wait out the end of the world elsewhere. Beelzebub and the others can handle the fight and Crowley… Satan will deal with the aftermath of whomever wins. He doesn’t much care right now. He thinks idly of the holy water in his safe but… he can’t bring himself to use it on himself while Angel is still alive. The hope that he may change his mind, small and tiny – fragile as it is, still present.

Instead he goes to the cinema. It’s a bit rundown but they are playing the Saturday morning cartoon shows. And he grabs some popcorn to watch the mindless television while the world ends. Sadly, it is not to be. No sooner has the opening sequence ended than Hastur arrives on the scene. Thankfully in the television for now but he threatens to come find him. And Crowley has a plan.

The perfect way to get Hastur back for all the misery he put him through. He can deal with the aftermath of the war another way. Now, that holy water is calling someone else’s name. He picks himself off and makes his way speeding back to his flat.

He takes the straight path there and passes by Soho on the way. He spots Angel walking slowly and with his head down. He ponders not stopping but that persistent spot of hope in his chest won’t let him drive past. He stops the car in the middle of the road and turns.

“Angel,” He shouts and Aziraphale stops suddenly and with a hopeful look on his face. Crowley hates him in that moment. With his stupid look on his face after having torn Crowley in two. But he loves him. The words burn in his mouth but he spits them out. “I’m sorry. I apologize. Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it. Work with me, I’m apologizing here. Yes. Good. Get in the car.” And he tugs fruitlessly at Angel’s elbow.

“What? No!” Angel protests and he is not moving. Crowley lets go of his angel’s arm and it drops back to his side.

“Forces of Hell. They’ve figured out it’s my fault. We can run away, together. Alpha Centauri,” He was proud of Alpha Centauri. A beautiful triple star system and the closest to Earth. “Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody will notice us.” _Until you Fall and I can have you. Then we can return in triumph._

Angel is shaking his head. “Crowley, you’re being ridiculous. I’m quite sure that if I can just reach the right people, I can get all this sorted.

Crowley is dumbfounded. “There aren’t any right people there’s just God moving in mysterious ways and NOT TALKING TO ANY OF US!” Laughing certainly but never talking.

“Well, yes. That’s why I’m going to have a word with the Almighty, and the Almighty will fix it.”

“That won’t happen.” Crowley says shaking his head. “How can someone as clever as you be so stupid?”

His angel looks sad but not insulted or angry. “I forgive you” he says instead and Crowley shakes his head violently.

“I’m going home, Angel. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And I… I won’t even think of you.” He lies and he thinks even Angel knows it's a lie.

He makes it home in record time and gets out the holy water carefully and gently pours it into a bucket to place above the door to his office. When he hears the bell ringing. And Ligur’s voice as well. He should have known. They are attached at the hip. Hopefully the splash from one will kill the other but if not, he does always have a backup plan. His claws are sharp and his fangs ache for flesh to bite and rend and tear.

The two Dukes of Hell are breaking into Satan’s London Mayfair flat, and Satan is lying in wait. He has a plant mister he just bought in his hand and holy water above the door. And when Ligur pushes open the door. Splash! The holy water tumbles down onto his head. He doesn’t even have time to scream. Not to say there isn’t screaming. But it is not Ligur. It is Hastur. Screaming and screaming and Satan while disappointed, is not upset in the slightest. Ligur had been on his short list as well. Threaten him. How did that work out for you, huh?

“Hi guys,” Crowley drawls.

“Holy water! I...I can’t believe ev-even a demon would...Holy Water. He hadn’t done nothing to you.” Hastur screams.

“Yet,” Crowley points out. “Now, I would recommend you go away.” He adds lifting the cheap plant mister he had bought solely for this purpose.

“You don’t frighten me.” Hastur says.

“I should.” Crowley says and his shape shifts blurrily turning serpentine before settling back into his Crowley form. “Do you know what this is? It’s a plant mister. Cheapest and most effective on the market. It’s filled with holy water,” never mind that he didn’t have time or enough holy water. It’s diluted here and likely not any good.

“You’re bluffing,” Hastur says.

“Maybe. Do you feel lucky?” And he starts to squeeze the trigger when Hastur makes a motion and the plant mister dissolves. It stings but no more than his angel’s tears in the forties. He is shaking his wet hand and debating whether to out himself or just kill Hastur now and be done with the fuss for now when the phone rings. He gets a deliciously evil idea. He puts one finger up to Hastur to tell him he’ll be with him in a second as he picks up the phone. “Hold on. Got an old friend here. Can’t talk.”

“Crowley, I know where…” But Crowley has hung up despite how hard it is to do to his angel. And His angel called him and knows where… something is. Probably the Antichrist and he still wants him if the call is any indication.

“Duke Hastur. Congratulations. You’ve passed the test.” he says calmly with a feigned excitement.

“Test?” Hastur asks, confused.

“We had to be sure you were trustworthy before we gave you command over the Legions of the Damned. I understand you can’t trust me but let’s see what the Dark Council has to say.” And he speed dials his home number. A home number he still kept purely because the angel liked to call him and didn’t understand that he wanted calls on his cell phone. And he jumps into the phone lines with a smirk. He hears Hastur following him but once the answering machine picks up he jumps back out but Hastur has no idea what he is doing and is thus stuck on the answering machine in a tape. Crowley almost stops to take the tape out of the machine but he is in quite a hurry to get to his angel and decides it’s probably safe enough. He can deal with Hastur later.

He makes it down to the ground floor in record time and is in the Bentley moments later. He tries to call Aziraphale on his cell phone but it just keeps ringing. Angel never lets it ring this long. He knows in his heart that something is wrong. Dreadfully wrong. He can’t feel his angel. He breaks every traffic law in existence and gets to the bookshop to see flames dancing through the windows; civilians and firemen watching the flames spread. Fire has never scared Satan. Not after Falling into a boiling pit of lava. He walks straight into the flames. Unlocking and then closing the doors with a snap. Fire does not scare Satan but right this instant he is afraid. He is terrified. Angel is supposed to be in there.

Satan does not get frantic or panicked or frenzied. But Crowley is all of those things at this moment. Aziraphale is not here. He can’t feel his angel. Anywhere. He hadn’t on the ride over or now that he is in the bookshop where his angel should have been. Should being the key word. His angel is not here. Despite his shouts and cries for him to answer. Angel, Aziraphale, his Angel is nowhere to be found and all the things his angel loves most is going up in flames. His angel went up in flames. He sees nobody but his angel was just in the bookshop trying to get to him. To tell him something of extreme importance. Suddenly, he is hit in the chest by a powerful stream of water breaking through the window above his angel’s desk.

“Someone has killed MY ANGEL!” He finally screams while sitting on the floor of a burning bookshop. Even if this is not Hellfire, which it is not, it means Angel is dead. Discorporated. And there is no chance of Angel getting back to Earth to stop the Apocalypse, to kill his son, to Fall. Angel is out of reach. Forever. He’s lost the war before it has even begun. His eyes prick and his chest aches and he can’t put a name to this feeling. He rises unsteadily to his feet with the flames still going strong around him. He stumbles out the door. And into the Bentley. He doesn’t know where he is going but he finds himself in front of the Tower. The Tower that takes him to Hell. Or to Heaven.

He storms in, eyes blazing and face twisted in a snarl, fangs out and charges at the escalator going up to Heaven. But he doesn’t go anywhere. The escalator is stopped and he can’t get to it. The floor seems to stretch out in front of him. His feet start to sink through the floor trying to take him to Hell but he refuses and gives a scream of frustration. The front door is closed to him.

“You can’t keep him from me!” He hollers to the empty lobby. “He is mine! He belongs to me!” He screams again in impotent rage and drops to sit on the mirrored floor. “You can have the others just give me my angel.” he adds tiredly. His eyes overflow with tears, “Please,” he whispers. “Just the one.”

He stays there as he did not in the bookshop. He does not sob, but there are tears gently tracking through the soot on his face. He’s lost. And he knows it. Eventually he stumbles out of the Tower and to a bar down the street and orders a whole bottle of… something drinkable. He doesn’t really care. He downs the bottle almost as quickly as he downed the bottle of wine the day he delivered the Antichrist. And soon is ordering another. And another. On the third bottle, he straightens. He feels something. His angel is nearby. Right next to him.

“Aziraphale,” he asks to the air, “Are you here?”

And his angel answers him. Actually answers him. “Good question. Not certain. Never done this before. Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you.”

“Afraid I rather made a mess of things.” His angel says, sounding sad. “Did you go to Alpha Centauri?”

“No. I… Stuff happened. I lost… I lost you.” And he does give a sob at the admission but his tears have dried by now. And after that one sob he is silent.

“I’m so sorry, Crowley. Listen to me. Back in my bookshop there’s a book I need you to get.” Aziraphale says gently as if he might break.

“Your bookshop isn’t there any more.” Crowley says gently and sadly.

“Oh?” And his angel sounds so heartbroken and shocked.

“I’m really sorry. It burned down.”

“All of it?” Angel asks.

“Yeah. What was the book?” He asks, thinking about what he can do for his angel.

“The one the young lady with the bicycle left behind. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of…_ ”

“ _Agnes Nutter_. Yes. I took it. Souvenir.” Crowley says excitedly. He can still do something for his angel. Before the world ends. Before the final war. Before… one of them dies.

“You have it? Oh. Look inside. I made notes. It’s all in there. The boy’s name, address, and everything else. I worked it all out. Crowley. I’m so sorry.” Angel adds as Crowley opens the book and examines the notes that had been shoved in it.

“No, don’t… Look, wherever you are, I’ll come to you. Where are you?” He asks, definitely not frantically.

“I’m not really anywhere yet. I’ve been discorporated.” Aziraphale says wryly. “You need to get to Tadfield Airbase.”

“Why?” Crowley questions. There isn’t a point if Angel won’t kill the boy. He certainly won’t kill his own son. And why does his chest feel so tight when he thinks of doing that to him?

“World ending. That’s where it’s going to happen. Quite soon now. I’ll head there too. I just need to find a receptive body. Harder than you’d think.” Angel tells him.

Crowley shakes his head. He’d be very willing but something tells him it wouldn’t work.

“Pity I can’t inhabit yours. But angel, demon. We’d probably explode. So I’ll meet you in Tadfield and we’re both going to have to get a bit of a wiggle-on.”

“What?” Crowley asks incredulously.

“Tadfield. Airbase.”

“I got that it was the ‘wiggle-on’. He says to the empty air, his angel having moved on. He pays the bartender and moves out into the stormy day and into the Bentley. He speeds off onto the roadway leading out of London and hits traffic. He bangs his head against the wheel. The M25. He had thought it was brilliant when he first thought it up. Most of Hell hadn’t understood it but Satan was sure it was a wonderful idea. And it had worked splendidly.

Until he got caught up in the traffic. Not to say it wouldn’t have happened with another road shape. Traffic jams were a fact of life everywhere. But this one being caused by the road itself being on fire, Infernal fire, was definitely unique. He pulled over onto the shoulder of the road and paused. He started to thumb through the pages of Agnes Nutter’s book looking for a solution or an index at all when the telltale feeling of a transportation miracle being used and a hand stealing his sunglasses, brought him up short.

“Hastur,” he growls a deep rumbling growl animalistic in its intensity and Hastur pauses.

“You’ll never get out of London, Crowley. Nothing can.” Hastur says mockingly.

“How was your time in voicemail?” Crowley asks viciously.

“Joke all you like. There’s nowhere to run, Crowley.”

“Aren’t you meant to be lining up ready for battle around now?” Crowley asks his smile sharp. And the hatred in his eyes nearly palpable.

“Hell will not forget. Hell will not forgive. You’re done. Do you think you can get across that?” Hastur gestures out the front window where the wall of fire is getting closer and closer. “There’s nowhere to go.”

Crowley smiles a vicious smile. “Let’s find out.” And accelerates the car.

Hastur swallows heavily. “What are you doing? Why are you driving? Stop this thing.”

“You know the thing I like best about time, is that everyday it takes us further away from the fourteenth century. I really didn’t like the fourteenth century. You would have loved it, then. They didn’t have cars back in the fourteenth century. Lovely clever human people, inventing cars and motorways and windscreen wipers. You’ve got to hand it to them, haven’t you?” The car starts going even faster. Crowley hadn’t necessarily had a problem with most of the fourteenth century only that was when he realized he loved an angel. It was a sore subject.

“Stop this. It’s over. You’re doomed. Whatever happens, you’re doomed.” Hastur tries again to get him to stop the car but Satan is committed now. And the car goes even faster speeding down the shoulder past the traffic and towards the fire.

“Then I’ll never have to fill out another compliance report, will I? See? Day’s already got better.” Crowley says, smiling a shark’s smile driving Hastur into the fire.

Soon, the car is on fire and Hastur is on fire and Crowley, Crowley is holding it together with sheer will. He was an Archangel, the highest of the host. His power is second only to the Almighty. He can make it through a little Infernal fire.

“Stop this. You’ll discorporate us both!” Hastur screams in pain as his body starts to flame.

“If you’ve got to go, then go in style.” Crowley responds by driving even further into the flames. Hastur goes up in flames and the car is moving by the power of The Adversary’s sheer force of will. “You are my car. I’ve had you from new. You are not going to burn. Don’t even think of it.” The flames subside to embers but the damage is done. The engine block is a hunk of burnt metal and the wheels are melted, the car should not be moving. But if Crowley is anything it is stubborn. He was not going to let physics stand in the way. He had been there before physics were just concepts and were made real by the Almighty.

He turns on the radio and Queen blasts out from the CD player as it always has and always will. The rest of the ride is taken on clear roads and through sheer stubbornness. Tadfield is an hour and a half outside of London by the M40. It is 3:47 in the afternoon. Crowley should be able to reach the Airbase to meet his Angel by 4:17. He keeps driving. His angel is waiting for him. Finally ready to Fall.


	13. The End of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Saturday afternoon and evening of the end of the world. Satan is meeting his son and the war is about to start.

He reaches the Airbase at precisely 4:28, having gotten lost near the village and his angel is waiting for him. He has taken over the host body of a past middle aged woman. And the form suits him somehow. He still prefers his angel’s original body. Once he Falls he will remake that body for his angel. It takes all his willpower to not assault the angel once he steps out of the burnt out Bentley.

But he manages to settle for saying, “You won’t get that kind of performance from a modern car.” He approaches his angel slowly and with his usual carefully crafted swagger.

“Crowley,” His angel breathes and it is definitely still his angel.

“Angel. I see you found a ride. Nice dress suits you.” He says instead of what he wants to say. _What changed your mind? How long until you choose me for real? What do I need to do for you to Fall for me?_

“This young man won’t let us in.” Angel and his host tell him quietly.

“Leave it to me,” He tells them smiling disarmingly. He should just kill the guard but Angel and the humans would probably look down on that. So, Crowley settles for talking his way in. “Army human,” he begins. “My friend and I have come a long way. And we would appreciate it if you would…” He trails off as the gate opens.

“Who did that?” The guard asks, raising his gun.

No one says a thing as four young children, and the one in the lead must be his son, ride past and into the base. His son, only a brief glance but it was his son. He looked handsome, he supposes, the potential for beauty was there. But he doesn’t think he would look like him when he grows into adulthood. She had someone else in mind when She crafted him. He doesn’t know if he is disappointed or not.

“Those kids are in trouble. But so are you people.” The guard says as he retreats to the guard shack to sound the alarm. He has made it there when there is a great sound of an explosion from behind Crowley.

He turns in alarm knowing already that it was the Bentley. He knew he should have used a transportation miracle but wanted to have a way to bring Angel home at the end of this. And the car. He’d had it for decades. It was still in pristine condition. He was known for his Pride and he took great pride in that car.

“Ninety years and not a scratch. Now look at you.” He stumbles numbly back past Angel and his host and Shadwell, why is he here, and drops to his knees. Perhaps a bit overly dramatic but if Angel took pride and loved his bookshop, Crowley loved that car. He takes the time to mourn the passing of his car, knowing that it wasn’t going to make it past Armageddon any ways but still in shock at witnessing it’s total destruction.

“Crowley,” his angel needs him. He can wait a moment while Crowley thinks of all the things he can never do with that car again. “Crowley, he’s got a gun. Do something.”

“I am having a moment here,” Crowley tells him. His angel may want him to come to the rescue but his angel is hardly helpless as much as Crowley enjoys being his knight in shining armour. Angel can handle one single guard.

“I am the nice one. You can’t expect me to do the dirty work.” Crowley doesn’t have an answer for that. But to see how far the angel is willing to go. How will his angel save himself this time?

Angel and his host heave a great sigh and turn around. They are walking toward the shouting guard and then… snap and it’s quiet again. Crowley pauses a moment more to smirk to himself. He knew Angel had it in him. He picks up the tire iron from the Bentley and realizes he is still holding onto the book from the bookshop. “Rest in peace. You were a good car.” He levers himself to his feet gracefully and turns around to approach the gate.

“Nice work on the guard.” He tells his angel without a hint of the triumph he feels in having pushed his angel to be his own knight for once.

“I do hope I haven’t sent him somewhere unpleasant.” His angel says in a worried tone.

That’s when Crowley notices the siren is going off and there are trucks of soldiers arriving at the gate. “I need to get over the car thing.” he says mostly to himself. “I’ll deal with them.” And he approaches the soldiers. He hears his angel talking to Shadwell.

“You may need to brandish your weapon, Sergeant Shadwell. We are here to lick some serious butt.” And Crowley smirks. That is definitely something he would like to do with his angel but not with witnesses.

“It’s kick butt, Angel. For Heaven’s sake,” and his mouth burns a little at the words. “Can’t believe I just said that.”

They approach the trucks and hear the guards yelling at them but Crowley ignores the words. Instead with a snap they are falling down asleep and the trucks are left unoccupied.

“Come on, Angel. Let’s hitch a ride.” he says pointing to an empty truck. The three of them pile into the car as Crowley takes the wheel. The truck is already running so he puts it into gear and drives them off further into the compound. Following the sound of a dog barking.

Angel is sitting next to him and Crowley wants to take his hand but knowing it is just a host stops him. He misses the Bentley already and his angel next to him. He misses how they held hands on the way to and from Tadfield. He misses his angel and the bookshop and drinking in the bookshop but for now, he has to get his angel to Fall by murdering his son. There isn’t time to seduce him. There isn’t a body for him to seduce. He will not in a host body. He may be Satan but he has standards.

They drive in tense silence until they come upon a strange scene that is not so out of place during the apocalypse. Four bikers facing down four children. He throws the truck into park and they all jump out of the truck.

“That one,” he points at his son. “Kill him, save the world.” And Shadwell is protesting. And Damn it. Angel was meant to be the one to kill him. But it may still happen. Shadwell is refusing. And Angel is taking the weird-ass gun from his arms and is pointing it. Maybe pointing it.

“Maybe we should wait…” His angel asks nervously.

“For what? Until he grows up? Shoot him, Aziraphale.” He insists. He doesn’t have time for this. We are on a countdown.

Angel nods his head and his son is just standing there waiting. His chest clenches at the blank look on his son’s face. And the trigger is pulled as the gun is jerked up to the sky. He lets out a groan of discontent.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let you do it.” the host says and there is nothing of Aziraphale in her voice this time.

“Why are you two people?” his son asks and his angel starts his story only to be interrupted by the Antichrist. “It’s not right. You should go back to being two separate people,” and all of a sudden his angel is being pulled like taffy out of his host. His angel is back in his body and Satan gives a sigh of relief at not having to remake his angel’s form.

He eyes his angel and then the host and then his angel. His angel looks back at him in relief and comes to stand by him, next to him. And Crowley is relieved. His angel is back where he belongs. The rest of it goes in a bit of a blur to Crowley. He sees the children facing down the Four Horsemen. He sees the sword of War picked up by a young girl in a red rain slicker. And he recognizes that sword. That is a Holy relic. One of the swords that Hell was preparing to face off against.

“Didn’t that used to be your sword?” He asks his angel quietly.

“I do believe it was,” His angel answers and Crowley nods his head.

He sees the girl, Pepper, his son called her, stab War and make a beautiful one liner as she did so. And then War is gone. Sucked into the sword. So follows Pollution and Famine with the help of two boys and a hell-hound? It doesn’t look like a hell-hound any more but it is definitely an infernal creature if the way it looks over at him and whines is any indication. Thankfully, everyone is too busy watching his son face down with Death to notice the hell-hound’s fear of him. And then Azrael is opening his wings and disappears.

“Well, I told you it would all turn out…” Angel is saying but Crowley is not having it.

“Nothing’s over.” He tells his angel. “Heaven and Hell still want their war. You, Antichrist, Adam?”

“Adam Young.”

“Adam. You and your friends got together and saved the world. That’s great. But it’s not over yet.”

“Hey!” A voice interrupts him. “You’re the man from the car, you have my book.” The bicycle woman yells to him.

“Oi. Book girl.” He looks down. He still has the book in his hand, he tosses it to her, almost hoping she will miss the catch. She doesn’t.

“What’s going on here?” Book girl asks.

“Long story. No time.” he says.

“Try me,” she challenges. And he almost growls at her to know her place but Angel is stepping forward and starting the story.

“You see, in the beginning, in The Garden… there was a...well, he was a wily old serpent, and I was technically on Apple tree duty.” And for the Love of Hell his angel is starting at the very bloody beginning. Crowley shakes his head and shushes him. And his angel trails off.

Book girl, it seems, knows his son as they greet one another. And apparently it was book girl and the nerd in the glasses next to her that stopped the nuclear war going off. Suddenly, they are interrupted by the arrival of a flash of lightning and the ground being pushed up from below. He knows those arrivals. Gabriel. And Beelzebub.

He mocks Beelzebub by bowing low and greeting xir with “Lord Beelzebub. What an honour.” Two more of his short list victims. He wants to rend and tear but Angel still hasn’t Fallen and he isn’t aware of who Crowley is. And it gives him pause.

“Crowley. The traitor.” And can you be a traitor to yourself?

“That’s not a nice word,” he tells xir.

“All the other words I have for you are worse.” And Crowley believes xir. But also knows that xir would be very put out to learn his identity. It causes him to smirk. “Where is the boy?” Xe demands.

Crowley debates a second whether to throw his son under the metaphorical bus and decides not to. But Gabriel, it seems, knows who they are looking for as he correctly points out the boy and says his name. “Adam Young. Young man: Armageddon must restart, right now. A temporary inconvenience cannot stand in the way of the ultimate good.”

“As to what it stands in the way of is yet to be decided. But it must be decided now, boy.”

And Crowley does growl, how dare Beelzebub talk down to _his_ son. The only true Prince of Hell. He pauses his internal thoughts to analyse his changed feelings toward the boy. He had hated this child when it was forced on him but now… he had thought he was raising him and then to find out he wasn’t… now to have his lieutenant disrespecting him. Somehow he had changed from a burden to his son. And he did not approve.

Adam, though, is standing strong in the face of Heaven and Hell’s displeasure. “You both want to end the world to see who’s gang is best?”

“Obviously. It’s the Great Plan.” Gabriel tries to say but Beelzebub interrupts.

“I’ve got this. Adam, when this is over you’re going to get to rule the world. Don’t you want to rule the world?”

Crowley holds his breath. He knows his son’s answer. He hopes he does at least. And his angel looks over to him nervously.

“It’s hard enough thinking of things for Brian, Pepper, and Wensley to do so they don’t get bored. I’ve got all the world I want.”

And Crowley cheers internally. More time to get the angel next to him to Fall. At least. That’s what he is supposed to be cheering for, isn’t it? He thinks perhaps, somehow, that it really did become about saving the world with his angel.

“You can’t refuse to be who you are. Your birth, your destiny, it’s part of the Great Plan.” Gabriel says dumbfounded. Crowley thinks now is about the right time to come clean and send Gabriel on his way with his tail between his legs. His younger brother always was the weakest of them though also the most assertive and, frankly, cocky.

But his angel is stepping forward and it seems he has a plan. “Excuse me. You keep talking about the Great Plan…”

“Aziraphale, maybe you should just keep your mouth shut.” Gabriel hisses and Crowley almost jumps him.

“Only, I’m not clear on this. Is that the Ineffable Plan, too?” His angel continues despite being interrupted so rudely.

“The Great Plan. There shall be a world and it shall last for 6000 years and end in fire and flame.” Beelzebub answers testily.

“Yes, that sounds like the Great Plan. But is that the Ineffable Plan as well?”

“They’re the same thing, surely.” Gabriel says baffled.

Crowley smiles and steps up next to his angel, behind his son, and fights the urge to reach out to the both of them. “You don’t know,” he says quietly to himself. “It’d be a pity if you were doing what the Great Plan said but were actually going against God’s Ineffable Plan. I mean everyone knows the Great Plan. But the Ineffable Plan. It’s ineffable. By definition we can’t know it.”

Both Gabriel and Beelzebub look baffled. It’s a good look on them, Crowley thinks.

“But it is written.” Beelzebub buzzes confusedly.

“God does not play games with the universe.” Gabriel assures and Crowley looks at him with pity.

“Where have you been?” he asks seriously. God does nothing but play games.

Gabriel and Beelzebub look at each other and step away to talk quietly. Crowley can’t quite make out what they are saying but when they look over at them, he smiles widely at them as his angel waves cheerfully. They both reapproach and Gabriel the wanker bends down insultingly to talk to his… Adam.

“Young man. You were put on this Earth to do one thing and one thing only. To. End. It. You’re a disobedient little brat and I hope someone tells your father.” Crowley feels his chest clench.

The feeling gets worse when Beelzebub chimes in. “They will. And your Father will not be pleased.”

They both vanish to their respective offices. And Crowley gets a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. “You know, Adam.”

And Adam turns to look at him. “I know your Father. And I’m pretty sure, no matter what those two would say, that he would be pretty proud of you.”

Adam looks at him, studying him intently. “You really think so?” He asks seriously.

“Pretty sure, yeah.” And Adam smiles. “Never was one for following orders, your dad. Be a bit hypocritical of him to be mad at you for it.” Everyone pauses as the implication of that sinks in. “Now,” he says, “It’s getting late. You and your friends had best head home. Before Beelzebub comes back to yell at you some more.”

Adam just smiles widely and nods. “Come on Pepper, Brian, Wensley. Come on, Dog.”

And Crowley pauses. “Did you really name a hell-hound Dog?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s what he is.” Adam says. And Crowley opens his mouth to lecture him on creativity before he closes it and shakes his head wryly.

Adam and his friends ride out of the airbase the same way they rode in and the adults all look at each other for a moment before Crowley smirks at them and they begin to walk away.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale says. And Crowley turns to look at him properly for the first time since he got his body back. He looks all put together. His clothes the same as he’s been wearing everyday for decades. His angel looks perfect. “Crowley, I am so sorry. I should have listened to you. You were right. God hasn’t been speaking to anybody for… well for far too long. I should have known She wouldn’t break Her silence for a nothing Principality like me.”

Crowley doesn’t say a word as his angel apologizes. But he does walk up to be in front of Aziraphale and takes his hand. He raises the hand to kiss the back gently while keeping his eyes locked on his angel’s perfect blue ones. “Let’s get back to London.” He says gently.

His Angel nods and steps to the side so they can walk hand in hand. Back towards the village.

“Oh,” his angel pulls to a stop and Crowley, who is still holding his hand, is pulled to a stop with him. “The Horsemen. Their artefacts. We should probably take those with us. Someone will be by to pick them up but we wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands.”

Crowley just nods tiredly and together they turn around and with a snap there is a box to place them into. Aziraphale picks up his sword and sheaths it. Crowley handles the scales and the crown. It’s not as good a crown as his own, he thinks and resists the urge to put it on to try it out.

Together they come back together and both reach out to link their hands once again and make the trip back out to the front gate to see the remains of the Bentley smouldering on the road.

“I am so sorry about the Bentley, my dear.” Angel tells him sadly.

“It’s a car. I only brought it so I could take you home with me.” _After you had Fallen_ he leaves off. His angel is still an angel. And the thought makes him angry but he is resigned. There is still time after all to get him to Fall. It’s a game to play just like She does. And now, there is nothing keeping Angel from saying yes to him. If he truly wants him. They make the long walk back into Tadfield and find a bus stop. Crowley miracles up a bottle of wine and they drink and as the sun goes down they wait for the bus together.

They sit with the box between them, sharing a bottle of wine and it’s like sharing a kiss. Lips to lips. But Crowley is not ready to push his angel again just yet. He waits until the International Express man has taken the artefacts. Before he moves next to his angel and lets his hand rest high on his angel’s thigh. And his angel does not remove it.

But soon enough they see the bus for Oxford coming. And his angel is wanting to be dropped at the bookshop. Crowley sees the heartbroken look on his angel’s face at the reminder that the bookshop is gone. Burnt like the Bentley burnt. But he is offering his flat, for as long as he wants. Then they are boarding the bus to Oxford – London. And once seated his angel’s hand finds its way into Crowley’s hand and settles on his lap. And Crowley almost smirks. His angel will be his.

The bus drops them at the door to Crowley’s building in Mayfair before it turns around and heads back to Oxford. And Crowley welcomes his angel into the flat. The remainder of Ligur a bunch of goo on the floor and with a snap it is cleaned up good as new and Angel is cleaning up the thermos of once holy water.

“What do you imagine our people are going to do to us?” his angel asks as he sits down on the uncomfortable sofa and Crowley honestly doesn’t know and so shrugs his answer. “I’ve got Agnes Nutters last prophecy here.” And his angel pulls a scrap of paper from his pocket. “I’m pretty sure they are going to try to destroy us. Choose our faces wisely. Though. I just… don’t know.”

Crowley hesitates. He knows he can make it out of Hell but his Angel is still beholden to Heaven for now. And if this is right. He will be playing with fire. Hellfire. Maybe. Choose your faces wisely.

“I think your side is going to try to get a hold of Hellfire.” He admits.

“Then your side will want holy water. Do you think they would share like that?” his angel asks nervously.

“I think it’s quite possible. Even probable. They are both desperate to get rid of a couple of traitors. It’s the choose your faces wisely bit that I don’t get. We can’t change our faces, can we?”

“I have an idea about that actually.” His angel says. “I was thinking, on the bus, about how I was able to possess that nice Madame Tracy. If we each were to try to possess the other we would probably explode like I said earlier. But if we do it at the same time… well then, maybe we can switch our bodies.”

His angel is a genius. It would be a moot point if he would just Fall already but he is a genius.

“Should we give it a try?” Angel asks hesitantly.

“I suppose we should.” Crowley answers and Angel reaches out with his hand and Crowley takes it into his own. Then they are flowing into and past each other getting glimpses of one another. And soon enough only a moment has passed and Crowley is looking into his own serpentine eyes. He pauses and is inordinately pleased that his form has remained his Crowley form and not reverted back to his Satan form. There is no doubt in his mind that his angel would recognize the most notorious of angels.

“It worked!” his angel says with a huge smile on his face and Crowley feels his own, his angel’s own, his lips twitch into a mirroring smile.

“It worked, Angel. You are a genius.” Crowley says and means it.

“Oh, you,” Angel says as he blushes. And Crowley’s smile softens. He brushes his angel’s thumb against the skin of his wrist and his angel looks down at their joined hands. “Oh,” he breathes out.

“Angel, are you still afraid?” he asks gently. And his angel takes a moment to think before he shakes his head. “Are you ready to say yes to me?”

And his angel looks up to meet his gaze. “Crowley,” he whispers. “Wouldn’t it be strange in these bodies? Just hold me tonight. And tomorrow, when we’ve made it through this, I’ll say yes then.”

Crowley gives a small sigh before he pulls his angel up to stand on his feet and leads him down a hallway. Angel gives a small whimper of desire but Crowley ignores it. “If we are going to be cuddling all night, I want to be comfortable.” And opens the door to the bedroom. It is a mirror to the bed in Hell. Large and decked in red silk, like sleeping on a cloud. There are no irons on this bed, though, for which he is grateful. It wouldn’t do to scare away his angel. He gently pulls his angel into the room and softly closes the door.

He turns to his angel and backs him up against the bed until he bumps into the edge of the bed. Angel jumps and looks back at the neatly made bed nervously before turning back around to meet Crowley’s now blue gaze. Nervousness does not look right on Crowley’s face and so he resolves to wipe it from his angel’s mind.

“Hush, Angel.” He croons. “Just to hold you, yes?” and crowds his angel until he is sitting on the edge of the bed. His angel’s hands come up to tangle in the deep red locks petting and massaging at his scalp until Angel melts into the hand in his hair, head tilting back and eyes slipping closed.

“Crowley,” Angel murmurs.

“Yes, Angel?” Crowley asks softly, guiding his angel to lie back against the duvet. Angel doesn’t answer and Crowley takes it as permission to keep going. His hands gently disentangle themselves from the red hair and he gently lifts his angel’s legs to be laying completely on the bed. Angel hums low in his throat and sighs as Crowley gently takes off his shoes and socks. Setting them down on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Crowley gently climbs onto the other side of the bed and crawls his way to his angel’s side.

He takes Angel’s hand into his own and softly runs his lips over the soft flesh of his hand kissing each knuckle and each fingertip. Pressing kisses against the palm and the inside of the wrist. Until Angel opens his eyes and looks up at him. With a look of adoration. Angel opens his arms wide and Crowley crawls into his embrace. His angel’s arms wrapping gently around his shoulders and running down each of his arms and sides.

“Take off my coat, love?” Angel says and Crowley sits up to slowly slide out of the coat his angel was so proud of and hang it gently over the end table. “Come back down here?”

And Crowley goes willingly. He’s not sure who it is seducing whom any more as his Angel’s hands gently stroke along his sides and hips, tangling in his blond hair and tugging him to lay down next to his angel.

“Crowley,” Angel whispers hesitantly. “Kiss me?” He asks nervously. Hands shaking against Crowley’s sides gripping at the shirt and waistcoat.

Crowley leans up and over him, and gently cups his face in one hand and supporting his weight on his other elbow, leans down and down brushing his angel’s lips over his own fire chapped lips. Angel lets out a whimper of discontent and leans up trying to chase Crowley’s mouth with his own. But Crowley backs away teasingly.

“Please, don’t tease.” Angel whispers. “I’m sorry.” And how can Crowley resist. This kiss is nothing like at the bandstand. It is full of passion. 6000 years of ‘I’m sorry’, 6000 years of ‘we can’t’, 6000 years of ‘please’. It starts soft and timid, a mere brush of lips that deepens into tongues and teeth and whimpers and sighs. It lasts for moments and forever. And when they part they are both panting from the emotion rather than the need for air. Crowley is the first to break the reverent silence they have fallen into.

“Angel,” he whispers his lips mere millimetres away from his own. And his angel looks up meeting his too blue gaze. “We are definitely doing that tomorrow when we make it through this. I want to taste you with my own lips and tongue. I want to see you with my own eyes and feel you with my own hands.”

“Yes,” Angel says “Yes, tomorrow.” And Crowley knows he means it. “For now, let’s sleep.” And Crowley’s own hands pull him down to lay with his angel and together they fall into silent contemplation. Neither sleeps that night but neither do they move from the other’s embrace. The fear of what will happen if they are wrong or discovered weighing heavily on them both. Satan knows he could get out of trouble in Hell but it’s his angel he is most worried for. He will not allow Heaven to harm his angel. He will go through with this masquerade with his angel to save him from the tender mercies of a cold and distant Heaven.


	14. Trials and Tribulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley faces down Aziraphale's tormentors and deals with them for hurting his angel.

The morning of Sunday dawns bright and both Crowley and Aziraphale are hesitant to move from their embrace. However, Heaven and Hell will come calling and they will not wait for the two traitors’ time frame to coincide. Reluctantly, Crowley loosens his hold only to receive a whine in response.

“Hush, Angel. It’s alright.”

“Crowley,” his angel admonishes. “It’s not alright. They are going to try to kill us and all we have is the hope that we have planned this right.”

“I swear to you, Aziraphale. That if it looks like we were wrong, I will tear down the gates of Heaven to get out. I will bring the walls of Hell down around their ears to find you. There is nothing that will keep me from your side but yourself.” Crowley says seriously. And his angel looks at him and nods.

“Don’t leave me then.” His angel practically begs.

“Never,” Crowley answers against his own lips. Their third kiss is not full of passion but neither is it the cold and clinical kiss of the bandstand. It’s the kiss of ‘good morning’s and of ‘I love you’s a gentle thing of promises and oaths.

“We have to get ready,” his angel says as he pulls away and as Crowley kisses his way down the long column of his own throat.

Crowley hums in displeasure and gives up on tasting his angel through his own skin and backs away. He sits up slightly and eyes his angel and swoops in for one more kiss, quick and dirty before pulling away. He licks his lips as he sits up leaving behind his stunned angel. He reaches over his angel to grab the coat he had discarded on the side table the night before. As he is reaching he suddenly feels two pairs of strong arms wrap around his middle and flip him onto his back gently. Crowley gives a small laugh.

“I thought you were the one saying we need to get ready?” he says.

His angel just hums delightedly and smiles. The smile looks strange on his own face but not as horrible as the nervousness had. He raises his angel’s hands to run through his own hair and cups his own face and gently graze his own lips. His angel presses a quick chaste kiss to his questing fingers.

“I just don’t want to leave this bed.” his angel admits quietly. And Crowley gives an internal cheer.

“Neither do I. But I would rather face this on my feet than have them come barging in here to tear us apart.” Crowley tells him, still stroking his hands through his hair.

Angel sighs. “You’re right.” And lets go of Crowley’s torso to sit up.

And Crowley follows him; he kisses his angel’s cheek gently and then the corner of his mouth and then his lips. “I could become addicted to kissing you.” He admits staring at his angel’s lips. But he will admit, it is strange to look and see his yellow serpentine eyes and red hair instead of his angel’s blue eyes and soft blond curls. His lips curl up into a happy smile. And a mirror on his own face.

Crowley stands abruptly and leans down to pick up his shoes and socks. He stands back up to see his angel watching him with a gentle smile on his face. He pauses only a moment before kneeling down at his angel’s feet to help him finish dressing. When he is done he looks up to find a sickly sweet look on his angel’s face. Eyes dancing full of love and adoration. He fears his own eyes reflect the same back.

This was never in the plan. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. The angel was supposed to Fall so long ago and he was supposed to laugh about it. But now. He needs his angel to Fall to keep him safe. Will it keep him safe? Hell Below he hopes so. But what if Heaven finds out about his Fall and goes after him with Holy Water. He could keep him locked in Hell, in the palace. But that is not what his angel would want. He saved the world so he could live in it.

He stands slowly and his angel helps him put on the one hundred and eighty year old coat. They are ready...maybe.

“I want you to keep your head down up there, my dear. Don’t go making too many waves.” his angel tells him and Crowley can’t agree with him. He plans to kill someone up there. Gabriel deserves it. He already got one off his short list but there are three more left.

“I want you to ask them how Satan took his son’s rebellion.” Crowley smiles wryly. “Only if you get a chance to needle them. Don’t go asking for trouble. But if you do get into trouble I will come find you. We meet at St. James. The usual bench at the usual time. And after, I’ll wait for you in the lobby. If you don’t come back in five minutes from when I’m done I’ll come find you.”

“Five minutes doesn’t seem like a long time.”

“I don’t want you down there any longer than you need to be without me.” _Not right now. Not yet. Not when you’ve yet to Fall._ All goes unspoken.

“Okay. Crowley,” Angel’s voice is shaking. “I’m scared.”

“We aren’t wrong about this. Agnes Nutter is not wrong about this. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Crowley reassures him, gently grasping his angel’s hands in his own and looking up to meet his angel’s eyes.

“I’m more concerned with you, dear boy. You will be stuck up in heaven with every angel around capable of creating Holy Water and destroying you.” His angel protests.

“And you will be in the midst of Hell. Surrounded by Hellfire. But it’s going to be okay.” Crowley takes him into his arms and holds him tight. “You know how to be me. And I know how to be you. We’ve known each other for over 6000 years. Better than either of our sides ever could.” Crowley releases his angel reluctantly.

“You are right. I know you are but I worry for you.”

“I know you do but I need you to worry for yourself right now.” His angel nods his head and they step apart. “I had better get to the bookshop,” Crowley says. And his angel nods his head.

Crowley pauses a moment to press a gentle kiss against his angel’s cheek before he leaves and no he does not look back. He wants to but refuses to do so. He takes a taxi back to Soho and arrives at the bookshop which should be a burnt out husk. It seems Adam had put things to rights.

Although, and Aziraphale was going to be upset by this, the books of prophecy were replaced by children’s books. Beautiful first editions it looked like but those books of prophecy had been from friends of his. Unless, and there, Adam had just moved the books. Good. He didn’t want to have to have a fatherly talk with him so soon about respecting others’ belongings. He seems like a good kid. No thanks to Crowley, Satan, himself.

Crowley bides his time in the bookshop and then makes his way to St James park. The usual time, the usual place. He finds his angel there in a tartan collared new suit jacket. The two of them join the queue for the ice cream truck and are soon at the front.

“Strawberry lolly and a vanilla with a flake.” his angel orders and Crowley knows he will have to swallow down the ice cream. Crowley is only half paying attention to the ice cream proceedings as he is more concerned with keeping an eye out for their respective sides. He knows they are in the park. He can feel them. Swarming. It’s when are they going to strike that is a mystery to him.

“How’s the car?” he questions for something to do.

“Not a scratch. How’s the bookshop?”

“Not a smudge. Not a book burned. Everything back just as it was. Have your people been in touch?” Crowley asks.

His angel shakes his head. “Yours?”

“Nothing.”

“Do you understand what happened yesterday?” His angel asks.

“I understand some of it. But some of it is just…” He trails off but another voice takes over.

“INEFFABLE.” the voice says and while his angel is looking over to see Death standing on the grass someone has come up behind Crowley with a gag and is dragging him away.

He sees Dagon and Hastur disguised as humans and tries to call out to his angel to let him know it’s a trap. But his angel doesn’t get the hint and Crowley watches as Hastur attacks his angel with a crowbar to the back of the head. If Hastur wasn’t already on his hit list he would be now. And now Dagon is added to the list as well. His angel goes down and Crowley is bundled up in the back of a truck and dragged over to the Tower and shoved into an elevator going up.

Once there, Sandalphon and Uriel both drag him out of the elevator and to a waiting chair which they tie him to. And then they wait. And they wait. And then he hears Gabriel coming up from behind him.

“Ah, Aziraphale. So glad you could join us.” Gabriel says and puts his hands on Crowley’s shoulders.

“You could have just sent a message. A kidnapping in broad daylight.” Crowley admonishes in Aziraphale’s voice and tone. And the angels buy it.

“Call it what it was an extraordinary rendition.” Gabriel says. And then. “So, with one act of treason you averted the war.”

“Well I think the greater good…”

“Don’t talk to me about the Greater Good, sunshine. I’m the Archangel fucking Gabriel.” Crowley almost growls. Almost. Instead he bites his tongue. His little brother was going to die today. Satan almost, almost, felt sorry for him. “The greater good was, we were finally going to settle things with the opposition once and for all.” Then without turning he says to Uriel and Sandalphon, “Any word from our new associate?”

“He’s on his way,” Uriel answers.

“He’s on his way. You’re going to like this one, Aziraphale. Bet you didn’t see this one coming.” Gabriel says. And Crowley bites his tongue harder. Almost enough to puncture and bleed. But not quite. It wouldn’t do to harm his angel.

In the meantime as they wait for their new associate, Sandalphon and Uriel begin placing a ring of stones near to him just big enough to stand in. Crowley recognizes those stones. They’ve been inscribed with runes. Runes to bind and chain. The fact that they are on stones forming a circle means they are meant to hold something in place. Not him, if they wanted to chain him they would be on actual chains. But it is meant to keep something in place and Crowley thinks he knows what it is.

“So, we’re waiting for someone then?” They ignore him. “Nice stones. What are they for?”

“Barbecue,” Uriel says dispassionately.

“What fun. I love a barbecue.” Crowley answers just as blankly. Inside he is laughing. A barbecue, they were right and his angel’s plan is going to work. The stones are to control the Hellfire.

Once the stones are in place, Uriel and Sandalphon both stand up and rejoin their places at Gabriel’s side. Crowley, while he hates all angels, except _his_ angel, wasn’t planning on killing more than Gabriel today but… it will be fun to get a few more in.

That’s when he hears the ding of the elevator arriving behind him.

“Woah, don’t get this view down in the basement,” It’s Legion, at least one of Legion.

“You got the thing?” Sandalphon asks.

“Yep. Tit for tat deal. This is a first.” Legion replies and takes the cover from the infernal iron pot and throws its contents into the ring of stones. The fire jumps out and into the stones but is held in check by the runes of holding. “Can I… Can I ask a favour? Can I hit him? Only I’ve always wanted to hit an angel.”

“Go for it,” Sandalphon replies.

Legion steps forward up to the seated Crowley and Crowley stares him down. They had always been kind to Crowley in his Crowley form. It will be a shame to have to kill one of them. Crowley is unafraid and will not cower, his angel would not cower. Spine of steel, his angel. Legion swallows heavily and backs up.

“I should be getting back downstairs. I’ll be back for the Hellfire in about… an hour?” They say instead.

“Barbecue will be over and done with by then,” Uriel says blankly.

Legion nods and disappears out of Crowley’s sight. _Smart demon_ , Crowley thinks. Maybe they can be spared.

Uriel steps forward and unties Crowley’s wrists roughly. “Up,” she commands and Crowley eyes her for a moment then stands. He rubs gently at where the rope had cut into his angel’s tender flesh and smooths down his waist coat and adjusts his bow tie.

“I don’t suppose I could persuade you to reconsider…” he trails off. He hadn’t thought so.

“We’re meant to be the good guys for Heaven’s sake.” he says a tad angrily. His angel would be polite in all situations.

“Well, for Heaven’s sake we are meant to make examples out of traitors. Into the flame.” Gabriel says, his voice short and clipped.

Crowley walks reluctantly forward. It wouldn't do to appear too eager. “Right. Well, lovely knowing you all. May we meet on a better occasion.” He says politely.

“We won't. It’s Hellfire. It will destroy you absolutely, utterly, and forever. Now shut your stupid mouth and die already.” And Gabriel gives a big sarcastic grin.

 _Oh Brother, you are going to die and I am going to enjoy it._ Crowley thinks eagerly, fighting a smile. He sighs and steps into the Hellfire.

It is a little known fact that demons can not create Hellfire. They can only manipulate it in small ways. Party tricks. If demons had parties. Well that really isn’t quite true now is it. There is one demon that can create Hellfire and make it do his bidding. It’s only the angel’s bad luck that that particular demon is the one they are attempting to destroy right now.

Crowley is basking. Hellfire is his friend. It burns inside him and warms him. Standing in a jet of Hellfire is like standing under a hot sun and feeling the warmth of it kiss your skin. He cracks his neck and sighs. Slowly, he steps out of the Hellfire and with a grand gesture of his arm, Hellfire is encircling the group of four moving slowly but inexorably closer.

“Oh, Brother, you should not have antagonized me.” He says lowly and smiles his sharks smile. It feels different on his angel’s face but does the job if Gabriel’s heavy swallow is any indication. The flame moves closer and closer tightening the knot around the three angels.

“Aziraphale, come on, it was a joke.” Gabriel tries.

Crowley just smiles as he walks closer to them, the flame coming up between them.

“Oh Gabriel. Not so mighty now are you? You always were the weakest of the Archangel’s and the most egotistical. Try to get out of this one, Brother. After all you are the Archangel fucking Gabriel.” Crowley taunts. “It’s such a shame you dragged poor Uriel and Sandalphon into this. But the more dead angels the better for me.” He leans down through the tightening flame to whisper into Gabriel’s ear. “Shall I tell you a secret? I’m not Aziraphale.” And he lets his power out to play, his eyes turning his original turquoise blue and Gabriel gasps.

“Lucifer,” He exhales shakily. “Brother.” And Uriel and Sandalphon both gasp in fear and surprise.

“You tried to harm _my_ angel so many times over the years, Gabriel. I won’t stand for it. You are going to burn here today, Brother, knowing that with you gone. Heaven is ripe for the taking.” Crowley tells him seriously.

He smiles again and the fire tightens even more catching on Sandalphon and he screams as the fire spreads before turning him to ash. Next comes Uriel and her face is a rictus of pain as a scream tears from her throat. Gabriel is left with nothing but the ashy remains of his companions. And he cries out in terror as the fire tightens one last time and his precious tailored suit catches first and spreads out to engulf him. Soon there is nothing but three smears of ash on the floor. With a snap, the fire is gone and he looks up at the cctv in the corner. And smiles and waves before he makes for the elevator. With a ding the elevator opens and he takes the lift down, down, and down watching the earth get bigger and bigger through the glass walls.

He steps out and readjusts his bow tie before stepping forward. As he does so another ding sounds and the doors open to let out his angel in Crowley’s body. He steps forward and Crowley smiles and offers his hand and his angel takes it.

“Now that was playing with fire,” his angel whispers smugly. Hand in hand they make their way out of the tower and to the nearby Berkeley Square gardens where they claim a bench.

“So, do you think they will leave us alone, now?” Aziraphale asks and Crowley almost smirks.

“At a guess they will pretend it never happened.” Crowley answers him. Although he is a bit worried about having murdered three angels in Heaven. It may bring retribution from Michael but it may also keep them so scared they never mess with them again. If it is the former, well, they don’t truly know who they are messing with. And if it’s the latter well, let’s hope that Aziraphale never finds out his boss is dead.

“Right. Is anyone looking?” Angel asks and Crowley focuses very hard and senses… nobody.

“Nobody. Right. Swap back, then?” And Crowley holds out his hand and Angel takes it. Holds it tightly in his own. And they are flowing, merging, sliding past one another into their respective bodies. They both shake a little as they settle into the corporeal forms once again but neither lets go of the others hand.

“A tartan collar? Really?” Crowley asks exasperated. He had more style sense than that.

“Tartan is stylish. So, Agnes Nutter’s last prophecy was right on the money.” He smiles conspiratorially. “I asked them for a rubber duck. And made the Archangel Michael miracle me a towel.” His angel laughs and it is a free laugh one without the constraints of Heaven. And Crowley joins in a genuine laugh of joy. He pictures Michael's face at that and then finding out that Aziraphale had burnt her companions to ash. “I also did ask them what Satan thought of his son’s rebellion.”

“And?” Crowley asks, smiling.

“They didn’t answer. They just sort of went pale and growled at me to get in the tub.” He laughs louder. Satan had won this day. Now to claim his prize, but… looking at Aziraphale, his angel. All he wants is to see him happy. 

“Can I tempt you to a spot of lunch?” Crowley asks instead of what he really wants to say. _Please say yes now. Let’s go back to my place. Or yours. I don’t mind as long as you say yes this time._

“Temptation accomplished.” Angel teases and they both stand.

“Where to?” Crowley asks once they are standing and his hand has found his angel’s once again.

“How about the Ritz? I believe a table for two has just opened up.” Angel says squeezing Crowley’s hand and Crowley nods.

“Anywhere you like, Angel. My treat.” And together they walk to the Ritz and a table for two is miraculously still free in the middle of the restaurant.

Once seated, Crowley orders a bottle of their finest champagne and they toast to a new world, and what they both mean is ‘to us’. Angel starts talking as they wait for their food to come and Crowley leans back and listens, his angel’s voice washing over him. And he smiles contentedly. Their food comes and angel relishes the food as he always does and takes his time but there is a sense of anticipation around him today. And soon enough their food is eaten and Crowley pays, this time with his own card, and they proceed to walk back out of the restaurant. Once on the pavement outside, Crowley turns to his angel and smiles at him. He wants it full of lust and lascivious but fears it comes across more lovesick.

“Your place or mine?” he asks. And Aziraphale blushes.

“Yours is closer, my dear.” Angel says lowly and, while it isn’t necessarily true, Crowley’s smile grows. He offers his hand and Aziraphale takes it in his own and together, hand in hand they make the trek to Mayfair and a large silk laden bed.


	15. Silken sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday afternoon is spent in bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically all porn. It can be skipped but really isn't this what we are all here for?

The walk to Mayfair is taken in companionable silence. Crowley has no words to explain how he is feeling at this momentous occasion 6000 years in the making. His triumph. He wants it. He wants to savour it like his angel savours the human’s food. The walk is not a long one and soon enough they are walking through the front door of Crowley’s flat. Everything is just as they left it this morning, even the bed is still rumpled from where they had been laying last night. Crowley finally lets go of his angel’s hand and takes the time to turn down the bed. He wants his angel to feel the silk of the sheets against his bare flesh. When he stands back upright and looks at his angel, Aziraphale is chewing on his bottom lip and wringing his hands nervously in front of his stomach.

“Angel…” he pauses. “Are you sure?” he asks quietly. “We don’t have to.” But oh how Crowley wants.

“I want to.” Angel says firmly, meeting his eyes.

“What if you Fall?” comes out of Crowley’s mouth quite without his permission.

“Then you’ll catch me.” Angel says without a doubt, without a pause. Crowley is speechless. Angel would choose him. Would choose to Fall. And he’s supposed to feel triumphant. All he feels is sad.

His angel would choose a demon, a false demon, a demon that doesn’t even exist above the Heaven that abandoned him. That abandoned Her creation. That never knew or learned how to love Her world.

“Angel,” Crowley says softly and he steps into Aziraphale’s space crowding him against the closed door. Crowley’s hands come up to cup his angel’s face and he kisses him tenderly, reverently. This angel, the best of all of them. And he is humbled. Finally, the angel that Fell for Pride is humbled by this, this pure and sweet angel before him.

He feels his angel’s hands come up to grasp at his waist and smiles into the kiss. “Let’s get you out of those layers,” he says lasciviously.

“Yes,” Angel breathes. And finally there is a ‘yes’.

Crowley gently pushes the vintage coat from his angel’s frame and hangs it lightly over the dresser next to the door. He does the same with the waistcoat, threadbare at the edges. The bow tie comes next and he lets it hang around his angel’s neck. As he starts to undo button after button on his angel’s shirt, he moves down kissing each inch of flesh as it is bared until he is on his knees before his angel and looking up at him with all the Holy love shining through his eyes.

“Crowley, will you…” Angel trails off and shakes his head.

“Anything,” Crowley tells him earnestly and stands back up his hands coming to rest on either side of his angel’s head.

“Will you...seduce me? Like you’ve tried to do before.” Angel says quietly, sounding almost ashamed.

One of Crowley’s hands comes up to cup Angel’s chin and force him to look up from the ground and meet Crowley’s eyes.

“It would be my absolute pleasure to seduce you, Angel.” Crowley says seriously, his eyes, though, shining with amusement. “Like Egypt.” And Crowley presses a light kiss to the tip of his angel’s nose. “Like Rome.” He kisses his angel’s cheek. “Like those ghastly suits of armour.” And the kisses trail to his neck just under his ear and his angel tilts his head to give him more room. “Like 1349.” His lips graze lightly over his angel’s pulse point. “Like Spain,” his hand tangles in his angel’s pale hair, “and Italy.” He bites at the pulse point lightly and his angel gives a gasp of desire. “Like the Globe. Go-Somebody I wanted to ravish you then.” he sucks a mark onto his angel’s neck and his angel whimpers. “Like the Bastille. You looked beautiful in those chains, my angel.” He grasps his angel’s wrists lightly to pin them above his head and his angel’s eyes are blown wide, nearly black so little of his beautiful storm blue left. “Like your shop in 1800.” He presses a kiss to the inside of his angel’s wrist. “In 1941.” Another kiss to the other wrist. “6000 years I’ve wanted you, Angel. My angel.”

“Yours,” Angel whispers back breathlessly. And Crowley lets out a low growl. He uses his grip on his angel’s wrists to pull him away from the door. He moves swiftly but not violently to push Aziraphale back against the bed. Gently he pushes his angel back encouraging him to sit on the bed. He slowly helps his angel out of his shirt and letting the soft fabric fall to the floor, he drops himself to his knees. He takes great joy in unwrapping his angel reverently taking off his shoes and socks, pressing brief kisses to the soft arches of his feet and the ankles. He sits up straighter and runs his hands slowly up his angel’s thighs but pauses before getting more than halfway up.

“Lie back.” He asks and Aziraphale, his eyes wide, does so. His hands coming to tangle in Crowley’s hair. Crowley presses a quick kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s clothed knee before he rises and stalks his way up and over his angel leaning over him and slotting himself between his angel’s thick thighs. He leans down again pressing gentle kisses to his angel’s generous stomach and chest, pausing to lick and suck on first one dusky nipple then the other, earning little gasps and moans.

“Budge up.” He says picking himself off of his angel’s soft body. Aziraphale pauses and blinks for several moments while Crowley smirks before he does as Crowley says and lays down in the bed properly. Crowley stands up and making sure his angel’s eyes are on him, begins slowly stripping out of his waistcoat and shirt. As he does so, he sways from side to side like the serpent he chose as his second form. His hands trail his own body pausing to pinch at his nipples and he gives a groan of pleasure at it. And if he plays it up just a touch for his angel, who has to know?

He pauses at the button of his trousers and meets Aziraphale’s gaze. His angel’s eyes are glued to his hands toying with the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, so slowly, he lets the button pop open and he shimmies his way out of the tight fabric. His dick, which had been only mildly interested in the proceedings up to this point, gives an interested twitch at the angel’s hungry gaze. Leaving the fabric to pool on the floor, Crowley swaggers up to the bed and climbs in to kneel above the prone angel. He leans down to give his angel another kiss and Aziraphale meets him halfway sitting up to clutch the back of Crowley’s head pulling him down and keeping him in kissing distance for long moments. The only sounds the wet slide of mouth on mouth and tongue against tongue and the clack of teeth meeting teeth.

Aziraphale gives a gentle sigh when their mouths part and Crowley smiles. His angel is in his bed. He’s won. Crowley sits up and settles into the space between his angel’s legs with a smile.

“Crowley,” His angel says and his voice is rough with want. Crowley smiles as he lays over his angel. And presses brief kisses to his cheeks and lips.

“Are you properly seduced?” Crowley asks teasingly. “Or do I have more work to do?”

“I’m seduced.” Angel says as Crowley sucks a mark into the skin of his neck where neck meets shoulder.

Crowley hums in satisfaction and let’s the flesh he was worrying in his teeth go. “Are you sure? I can do so much more seducing.”

“Another time. I want you.” Angel says his hands tangled in Crowley's hair and tugging him up to kiss him. Crowley gives a moan of approval as his angel’s lips slot against his.

“How do you want this tonight? Anything you want.” Crowley says and Angel pauses his ministrations.

“How do you mean?” Angel asks.

“I mean do you want to have me or should I have you? Would you like it cruder?” Crowley murmurs against the skin of his angel’s chest.

“Must you?” Aziraphale asks breathily.

“Oh, I must. I must.” Crowley teases.

“Very well. How do you mean, dearest?” Aziraphale gasps as Crowley attaches his mouth to his nipple and bites down gently before pulling off.

“Would you like to fuck me or can I fuck you?” Crowley asks, blowing gently on the pebbled nub he had previously been assaulting.

“Oh,” Angel gives a moan of pleasure, his hands clutching at Crowley’s head and shoulders. “Both? Both sounds good. I want everything with you?”

“Very good answer. But which first?” Crowley asks moving back up to look into his angel’s eyes.

“I… I don’t know. You choose. I want what you want.” Aziraphale says slowly.

“I would very much like to have you.” Crowley admits meeting and keeping Aziraphale’s gaze. Until Aziraphale nods his head yes. Crowley leans down again to kiss his angel tenderly. “I’ll make this good for you, Aziraphale.”

“I know you will, Crowley.” Aziraphale says fondly. And Crowley’s hands wander down to the button of Aziraphale’s trousers and expertly undo the buttons. Slowly, he peels the trousers and pants down Aziraphale’s thick legs until his angel is laying there as bare as Crowley is. He finally gets a look at Aziraphale’s form and the perfectly sized cock that is growing even as he looks at it.

Crowley swallows heavily. He wants. He wants to taste and so he does. He slithers down the bed to be at face level with his Angel’s cock and meets his angel’s eyes as he leans forward to give one swift lick from base to tip. Aziraphale’s head drops back at the feeling and Crowley smirks. He takes his angel in hand and moves to lick and suck at the head of his angel’s erection drawing little gasps and mewls from his angel’s lips.

When he moves to swallow down more of the cock in his hands, his angel gives a cry and his hands tangle in Crowley’s hair once again and his hips give an involuntary thrust pushing Aziraphale’s cock deep into Crowley’s mouth, the head hitting the back of Crowley’s throat. And Crowley gives a moan of delight around the prick in his mouth and Aziraphale cries out again his head thrown back and the long line of his neck thrown out in stark relief.

Crowley pulls off with an obscenely wet pop and licks his lips chasing the taste of sweat and precome. And eyes Aziraphale through his lashes. He miracles up a bottle of lube with a thought but has a decidedly grand idea when he sits up. “Roll over, Angel. I want to do something with you.”

“You weren’t doing something just now?” Angel asks, dazed.

“I think you’ll like this. I did promise to make this good for you.” Crowley teases.

Aziraphale smiles at him and grumbles slightly but slowly turns over onto his stomach. Cushioning his head on his folded arms. Crowley smiles and grabs a pillow to place under Aziraphale’s hips manhandling him into position and Aziraphale grumbles good-naturedly.

“Now what on earth are you doing back there?” Aziraphale asks, trying to turn his head to see.

Crowley just smirks and hums noncommittally. Lowering his face to nuzzle at the round curves of his angel’s ass. Slowly he parts the cheeks of his angels arse to expose the rosy entrance and leans forward to lap gently at it. His angel jumps and gasps at the first touch of warm tongue against his entrance. Crowley does not let it deter him as he continues to lap and nip at the dusky flesh. Soon his angel is opening to his searching tongue and mewling in delight. Crowley continues to lick and suck at his angel’s entrance as Aziraphale mewls and squirms. Soon, his tongue is thrusting in earnest into his angel’s hole and Aziraphale is crying out and thrusting back into Crowley's face.

Not letting up his sensual assault on his angel’s arse, Crowley gently begins to insert one of his slim fingers next to his questing tongue using the slick saliva as a lubricant. Aziraphale huffs out a breath at the intrusion but does not object. If anything he thrusts back with more force, nearly dislodging Crowley’s face from where it is planted firmly between Aziraphale’s cheeks.

Crowley pulls away to chuckle lightly at his angel’s behaviour. “I told you, you would enjoy this.”

“Crowley. Please.” Aziraphale answers his teasing with a plea.

“Shh,” Crowley hushes while nuzzling at the base of his angel’s spine. He nips lightly at the globe of one of his angel’s cheeks and opens the lube one handed. Spreading the cold gel into the crack of his angel’s arse, he slowly inserts another finger, scissoring his angel open on his slim fingers. Aziraphale gives a moan of appreciation and Crowley thinks it’s better than any sound he’s ever made while eating. All the sounds his angel has made so far so much better when he is the cause of them.

Crowley’s questing fingers probe gently looking for something while gently teasing open his angel. Aziraphale gives a cry and jerks and Crowley knows he has found it. He rubs very gently feather light and Aziraphale gives a sob of ecstasy. Crowley pulls out and pushes back in with three well lubricated fingers and continues to thrust gently and drag his fingertips over his angel’s prostate from time to time, earning him moans and gasps and mewls of pleasure.

When all three of his fingers fit comfortably, Crowley pulls them slowly from his angel’s body and gets a whine of disappointment. “Hush, Angel,” Crowley says softly. “You’re ready. Turn over, I want to see your face.”

Aziraphale slowly turns over, his hips still propped up on the pillows. And Crowley thinks for a second that he looks radiant. A blush has stained his cheeks and down his chest a beautiful rosy pink, his eyes are dilated in pleasure. The only thing missing are the chains to hold him down. But he doesn’t need them. His angel is in his bed by choice. Maybe someday they can play that game but for now, his angel is here with him of his own free will.

Crowley just stares in loving awe for long moments until Aziraphale starts to fidget again. Crowley shakes his head to clear it and smiles gently at his angel. He places his hands gently on Aziraphale’s knees and pushes them apart so he can settle between them. He climbs over his angel and leans down to press gentle open mouthed kisses against his chest and up to meet his lips. Still locked in a passionate kiss with his angel he takes himself in hand and guides his cock to his angel’s entrance. Slowly, he presses in and Aziraphale gives a whine of discomfort at the pressure. But soon his angel sighs out in pleasure as the head of Crowley’s cock pushes through the guardian ring of muscle and the rest of him is seated inside his angel’s hot channel.

They both pause to breathe heavily at the sensations before Aziraphale shifts and moans. Crowley takes another second but pulls out a fraction and thrusts back in gently.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale moans and Crowley smiles. He pulls back further and thrusts again, earning him another moan and soon he is thrusting in earnest. His hips snapping back and forward his cock sliding slickly against his angel’s flesh. And the sounds his angel makes, groans and whimpers and gasps of pleasure. It’s just like Egypt and yet so much better. His angel’s cries are music to him and he drives forward with more and more force until his angel is clutching at the headboard and the sheets and to Crowley’s shoulders.

Crowley’s hands grip at his angel’s hips and thighs, bruising in the intensity of his grasp. But once he changes the angle of his thrust and brushes past the nub of nerves that cause his angel to cry out louder than before, his hand finds it’s way firmly around his angel’s prick. He strokes as much in time with his own thrusts as he can with the force of his pounding pushing his angel further away from him and his other grasping hand pulling him back down onto Crowley’s member.

Their rhythm stutters when Aziraphale’s hips start their thrusting up into Crowley’s closed fist.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale moans and Crowley leans down to press a messy kiss to the side of his angel’s mouth.

“Angel, My Angel. So beautiful.” Crowley mutters against his angel’s throat where he is pressing messy kisses and bites to the soft flesh.

“My Crowley.” Aziraphale answers and Crowley is undone. He gives a cry of ecstasy and comes in great spurts deep into his angel’s channel. His hand stutters around his angel’s member but his angel seems to not need the stimulation as he comes quickly after him. “Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs as Crowley continues with shallow thrusts as he comes down from his high and his erection grows soft inside his angel. Pulling out causes a disappointed sigh from the both of them and Crowley collapses next to his angel lifting his hand to lap at the spend dripping down his hand.

They lay panting for several long moments before Crowley turns onto his side to cuddle up next to his angel. His hand tracing angelic runes into the soft flesh of his angel’s stomach and chest running through the seed there and licking it up. Relishing in the taste of Angelic spend, salty and holy.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says lowly, his hands coming up to run over Crowley’s slim back and sides.

“My angel.” Crowley responds.

“I love you.” his angel says seriously. And Crowley pauses.

“I know. I love you, too.” And Aziraphale’s smile is blinding. It isn’t even a lie.

“I know. But thank you for telling me, you old serpent.” His angel teases and Crowley smiles wryly.

“I think I need to rest before we try it the other way around.” Crowley says stretching out his spine and reaching far above his head with his long arms.

“Hmm,” his angel gives a small pout but then smiles disarmingly. “Did I wear you out?”

“I’d rather wait to see if you Fall.” he answers seriously. His hands going back to wandering his angel’s bare chest.

“I don’t feel anything different.”

“Good. I think it might be a good idea to stock up on some holy water in case Hell comes back.” It’s a lie, he just wants to destroy Hastur and Dagon and maybe Beelzebub. Mostly just Hastur. Beezlebub was doing xeir job. And Dagon took far too much joy in seeing him falter. But then again Beelzebub had the nerve to talk down at his son. But it would be a pain to have to run Hell by himself without xir assistance. Perhaps just a dismemberment. It may take a couple thousand years to put xir back together but Hell can last without a leader for that long. Anything that let’s Satan stay on Earth with his angel.

“You think they will?” Aziraphale asks worried.

“Eventually,” he says. Truthfully he can handle Hell. But he wants to get rid of his list. And while it is not _impossible_ to kill a celestial being without the use of Hellfire or Holy water, it does take rather more effort that he really wants to expend. “Just to be on the safe side. A couple more thermoses of holy water.”

“Then, what about Heaven? How will we deal with them?” Aziraphale asks, turning over onto his side to face Crowley.

“I think we are safe that way.” Crowley says.

Aziraphale freezes. “Why? What happened up there?” He asks hesitantly.

Crowley doesn’t get a chance to answer as there is a crash further out in the flat. They both freeze.


	16. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's secret comes out in a spectacular fashion. And Aziraphale makes a choice.

Slowly, they meet each other’s eyes and share what seems to be a conversation in looks. They nod and both climb gingerly out of the bed making as little noise as possible. Giving no mind to their naked state they move toward the door and open it quietly. Crowley takes lead, moving low and slithering out of the room and down the hall, Aziraphale right behind him. They pause at the doorway into the parlour to peek around the corner. Michael is standing in the room with a glass pitcher filled with water and a sword at his waist, holy water if Crowley doesn’t miss his guess.

He looks over to Aziraphale to see him looking quizzically back. Crowley swallows and shrugs and stands up. Aziraphale follows his lead but walks into the room first. Holy water won’t harm him after all. He hasn’t Fallen.

“Michael, to what do we owe this surprise? I believe you agreed to leave us alone when that Holy Water didn’t work on Crowley.” Aziraphale greets, startling Michael into spilling a few drops of the Holy Water over the lip of the pitcher.

Michael turns swiftly around at hearing them behind him and swallows. “The holy water isn’t for him, Aziraphale. It’s for you.” He responds.

Crowley’s eyes widen. “It’s not going to work. Just because he survived the Hellfire doesn’t mean he’s a demon. He hasn’t Fallen.” Crowley says trying for smooth but bordering on frantic.

Aziraphale shoots him a worried glance. “He’s right. I still feel holy. But you may test the holy water on me if that would make you feel more comfortable.” He takes a step forward and Michael takes a great step backward.

“Stay where you are.” Michael says warningly, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. His other placing the holy water down on the coffee table he had run into which had made the crashing noise they had heard.

“Michael, are you quite alright?” Aziraphale questions politely.

“Stay back, demon.” Michael says again.

Aziraphale places his hands up placatingly. “I told you I’m not a demon. Why would you think I am? Just because the Hellfire didn’t work?”

“Because you killed them.” Michael says as if speaking to a child. “You killed Gabriel and Sandalphon and Uriel. It’s on the cctv.”

“In Aziraphale’s defence, they were trying to kill him.” Crowley says, this was not a part of the plan either. He had to get Michael away from his angel with that Heavenly sword. Michael’s hand closes on the hilt and Crowley pulls Aziraphale behind himself. Readying his hand to snap up Hellfire.

“He’s a demon.”

“I’m really not,” Aziraphale says and reaches for the holy water dipping his fingers in it. “See. The holiest holy water and I’m not a pile of demon goo. I’m still an angel, Michael. Now why don’t you tell us what’s really going on.”

“You have to be a demon. Only a demon can control the Hellfire like you did.”

“How did Aziraphale control the Hellfire?” Crowley asks, trying to play ignorant.

“How?! You must have shown him!” Michael protests and his hand is white on the hilt of his sword.

“I can assure you I have never shown Aziraphale how to manipulate Hellfire.” Crowley promises and it’s true.

“Why don’t you show us the recording and I can explain?” Aziraphale says. Crowley's stomach clenches and Michael scoffs but pulls out her Tablet and brings up the recording of the execution. Together they watch Aziraphale sit and then stand and then bask and then step out and with a sweeping gesture call up Hellfire and tighten the knot around the three cowering archangels. They watch as Aziraphale snaps and the Hellfire disappears and Aziraphale waves to the camera and walks away.

Aziraphale is shaken but holding it together. Crowley sighs. “Angel,” he begins as Michael takes back his tablet.

“Not right now, Crowley.” Aziraphale tells him shortly. “I understand how that looks, Michael, but again self-defence. And I’m not a demon obviously. Would you like to see my wings as well?” And he brings out pure white wings, not a scorched feather, not a hint of black, in evidence. “Now, Michael,” He says lowly. “Give me the sword.” And he holds out his hand as if demanding a small toddler hand over a piece of contraband.

“Impossible,” Michael says. “You… we’ve seen you. Only demons can create Hellfire.”

Crowley sighs and looks to his angel.

“A misconception I assure you. Only one demon can create Hellfire.” Aziraphale responds. “Are you sure you want to antagonize him?”

“Only one…” Michael trails off then his eyes widen as understanding dawns on his face. “Lucifer.” He breathes out.

“Satan now. You should know that.” Crowley says and looks to his implacable unflappable angel. Standing, looking like a true angel of the lord with his wings unfurled and looking down at Michael with disappointment. Crowley has never been more turned on.

“Crowley, enough.” Aziraphale says harshly and Crowley smiles and nods his head.

“But how would Lucifer impersonate Aziraphale to destroy a couple Archangels?” Michael asks.

Crowley sighs once again, growing tired of this game. “Angel,” Crowley says and he means deal with it or I will. Aziraphale looks at him and nods.

“Michael, hand over the sword or you will find out exactly how Lucifer came to kill Gabriel and the others.” Aziraphale says his hand reaching out to cover Michael’s and pry his hands off the hilt and taking the sheath from around his waist.

At his touch Michael starts to struggle but Aziraphale was a soldier and he was anticipating the struggle. Michael is thrown off his game and not able to regain control. Once Aziraphale steps away from Michael, Crowley snaps his fingers and Michael is surrounded by Hellfire. Aziraphale takes a step back and turns on Crowley. With the sword out of its sheath and burning with Holy fire.

“Crowley, what are you doing?” Aziraphale asks, his voice raw with emotion, betrayal, sorrow, anger.

“Michael is going to have to die, Angel.” Crowley, Satan answers. “He knows too much. And once the last of the Archangels is dead, Hell can take over Heaven without having to involve the humans. No apocalypse just a hostile takeover.”

“No, I can’t let you do that, Crowley. Or are you Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, his voice wavering and tears in his eyes.

“I’ve been Crowley for 6000 years, Angel. Who else would I be?” Satan croons, he’s losing control of the situation. This was not the plan.

“You tell me. You said yourself all those years ago, only one demon can create and manipulate Hellfire. Were you lying then or are you lying now? Or are you always lying?”

“I told you the truth that night.”

“So it’s just every other night you’ve been lying to me.” his angel accuses and Crowley doesn’t have a response. He swallows heavily. “Were you lying today?” his angel’s voice is rough from the tears trailing down his cheeks. And Satan’s chest clenches. He should say yes. He should tell him it was all a lie, a ruse, a way to get his defences down. But it hasn’t been about getting him to Fall for so long and the tears in his angel’s eyes hurt something in him.

“I wasn’t lying today.” He whispers.

“Show me who you really are.” His angel demands and Crowley lets the change wash over him and he hears Michael scream. His hair is still short but golden blond, his eyes still their golden serpentine form.

His angel’s eyes rove over him, the tattoo that marks his second form, the short cropped hair, the eyes and gives a sob.

“Angel,” Crowley tries to croon.

“No,” Aziraphale shouts. “You don’t…” he trails off. “You don’t get to call me that,” he says sadly.

“Aziraphale, talk to me.” Crowley says softly. “I had to lie to you. What would you have done that first day if I had given my real name? Even without your sword you could have smote me.”

Aziraphale shakes his head and brandishes his stolen sword. “Why did you spend so much time with me? You haven’t loved me since Eden.” And he says it with no doubt in his tone.

“Because you intrigued me. This angel that can do no wrong. Everything that you’ve done that you should have Fallen for, and still look at you. The Avenging Angel of the Lord. You have never looked better, my angel.” Crowley says truthfully.

“I’m not yours.” Aziraphale says weakly.

“Yes you are,” Crowley smiles gently. “You’ve been mine since Eden. Since you gave away a Heavenly artefact. You even said it earlier today. Mine,” He growls the last word.

Aziraphale shakes his head and Michael, watching everything through the haze of flame gives a startled cry at the flame getting closer. Aziraphale’s head snaps to the side to see him cowering in the ring of Hellfire.

“Let him go, Crow-Satan. I mean it. I’ll use this.” he says brandishing his sword.

“No you won’t,” And Satan lets his true form go fading back into Crowley. The form that feels more natural to him than anything else.

“No. You don’t get to do that. It’s not fair.” Aziraphale cries out and Crowley takes a step forward.

“Angel, my angel. Put down the sword. You don’t want to hurt me.” Crowley says taking another small step forward. The Hellfire is closing in and the holy fire is burning bright and the whole room is becoming sweltering like Down Below.

“You’ve only been trying to get me to Fall.”

“You were prepared to not two hours ago. It’s still me. Just a little more to me than you bargained for. Come, Angel.” And Crowley reaches out with his hand. “I can keep you safe if you Fall. No one will fight against us. We can rule the Heavens you and I. You by my side.”

Aziraphale shakes his head desperately. “You… you lied to me.”

“I omitted truths. Yes.”

“You’ve never loved me.”

“I’ve always loved you.” And he realizes it’s the truth. He can taste the lies as they drip and this tastes nothing like a lie. “I’ve always loved you, Aziraphale. I wanted you for mine, in my bed and by my side. And we can have that. Just let me kill Michael and we can go back to bed. You can fuck me like we planned. No making you do the dirty work. Just be by my side. Just love me as I am.”

Aziraphale gives a heaving sob, his arms dropping incrementally through Crowley’s speech. Crowley takes another step forward and he can almost wrap his arms around his angel. Aziraphale looks up and meets his gaze. He puts all the love he can into it.

“I adore you, Aziraphale. I will never worship Her again, but you… I would worship you if you let me.” He says seriously, his voice whisper soft.

Aziraphale gives a great cry and raises the sword above his head and Crowley stops breathing.

Aziraphale’s arms reach out toward the Hellfire and Crowley screams and his arm reaches out to dissipate the Hellfire as Aziraphale’s arm passes where the fire had been a second before and the sword plunges deep into Michael’s breast.

Michael drops to his knees then to the floor and golden ichor flows over the stone floor and pools beneath the Archangel.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley says into the stunned silence. And Aziraphale screams. A howling cry of pain and loss. A scream that Crowley recognizes from some 6000 years ago.

“No. No.” he pants, his eyes wide in fear. “Nonononononononononono. NO!” Crowley screams as he falls to his knees next to Aziraphale who has crumpled into a heap still screaming. “NO! Not like this! Not now!” He screams to the Heavens and tries to wrap his arms around his angel who screams out in agony. Crowley is not deterred and just wraps first his arms and then his wings around his angel and holds him as his wings burst into fire and the smell of burning feathers pervades the flat.

It lasts for days, the screaming. And at the end of it, Aziraphale is asleep in Crowley’s arms. And Crowley, his face tear streaked and voice rough from screaming and crying out to a God he already knew wasn’t listening to take him back, gently lifts him to carry him back to the bed room. He places his… Aziraphale on the bed gently and goes back out to the parlour and to the body of an Archangel. With a snap, the body is dropped into the elevator of the Tower and sent up to Heaven. He can’t even bring himself to smile at what they will look like finding that surprise. The sword he keeps for his... Aziraphale.

His angel isn't an angel any more. He is supposed to feel triumphant. Instead he feels tired. And angry. And sad. He eyes the pitcher of Holy Water and then summons a very familiar thermos and fills it gently with the holy water. Then he gets another. And another. And another. Until he has five identical thermoses of Holy Water.

He places each one into the safe and goes back to the bedroom. He stands there for long minutes watching his… Aziraphale sleep. He doesn’t seem to have changed. Aside from his scorched wings there are no wounds, no animal attributes, nothing to imply he has Fallen. But Crowley, Satan, let’s be honest for once here he’s always been Satan, knows that kind of a scream. It’s the same scream that still burns his throat and pricks his eyes over 6000 years later. The kind burned into his ears from his friends falling. Finally he gives up examining his...he sighs. Aziraphale will always be his angel. But he realizes it might be hard for him to hear right now. He gives up examining Aziraphale for any changes and climbs gingerly into the bed with him and curls around the sleeping Fallen and wrapping him in arms and wings, joins him in sleep.


	17. The Fall and it's Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wakes up and he and Crowley talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains Top Aziraphale. If that isn't your thing you can skip that portion. Just skip from one set of page breaks (~~~~~~~) to the other.

He wakes to shifting in the bed. Aziraphale is up. Crowley opens his eyes to look down into the too blue eyes of his...demon. And Aziraphale looks back, tears in his eyes and his wings, scorched and blackened, wrapped around himself.

“Aziraphale, why ever did you do that?” Crowley whispers.

“If you want me by your side, I’m not going to be just a pretty bauble.” Aziraphale says tearfully but firmly.

“I never thought you were just pretty, I thought you were gorgeous,” Crowley kisses one tear stained cheek. “And smart,” He kisses the other. “I thought you were good,” A kiss to his nose. “And kind,” A kiss to his forehead. “I thought you were vicious,” A chaste kiss to his lips. “And not to be trifled with.” He finishes with another kiss to the lips that Aziraphale himself deepens.

“Does the burning go away?” Aziraphale asks softly once they part.

“Yes,” Crowley answers tenderly. “It goes away. You’ve been asleep for,” he looks at the clock, “three days. And the Fall took six. It’s next Tuesday now.”

“So short a time?” Aziraphale asks.

“Yes, I caught you.” Crowley replies simply. And he had. Not these earthen bodies but his celestial body as it went tumbling through space and time. He had reached out and caught him. Just like Aziraphale knew he would.

“Tell me really, why did you kill Michael? I wouldn’t have ever asked you to do so. You could have been a kept angel.” Crowley asks gently, his hands running over Aziraphale’s side as Aziraphale turns to face him, his wings stretched out behind him on the bed.

“I told you. I refuse to be some… trophy you keep beside you. If you are going to rule the Heavens then I am going to rule next to you. I won’t be just some pretty little thing you bring out to play with or show off.” Aziraphale insists.

Crowley hums low in his throat tasting the lie and with his hands running the length of Aziraphale’s back and side says, “Well, My angel, aside from the burning, how do you feel?”

Aziraphale takes a moment to consider the question and smiles. “Free.” He responds.

“Free?” Crowley asks, smiling as well.

“Yes. Like nothing can touch me.” Aziraphale says smiling.

“Good. I won’t let anything hurt you. Never again. Unless you ask me to.” Crowley says seriously.

“Unless I ask you to?” Aziraphale hums questioningly.

“Oh Angel,” and Aziraphale flinches, “Aziraphale, Listen to me. You are always going to be my angel. You are the best of all of them. Just because you chose to Fall doesn’t mean She cast you out. You had a choice unlike any of the rest of us. And that is something to be admired.”

“Do you think so?” Aziraphale asks hesitantly.

“I know so, Love.”

And Aziraphale smiles at the new nickname. “I think I can believe you.”

“You had better. I hear your new boss is quite the martinet about such things.”

“My new boss, hmm?” Aziraphale smiles.

“Yep, though I know how you can get in good with him if you are up for it.” Crowley says lasciviously.

“And how is that?” Aziraphale teases.

Crowley moves in close to whisper against his lips, “You can fuck him like you promised to nine days ago.”

“Oh you.” Aziraphale admonishes.

“Think you are up for it or should we take a rain check?” Crowley asks seriously.

“Let me put my wings away.” Aziraphale says and hisses in discomfort as he tucks his wings into the ethereal plane where they are safer. “They will heal?”

“They already are. You have some beautiful white coming in already.”

“White?” Aziraphale asks startled.

Crowley hums in agreement moving forward to kiss at Aziraphale’s neck. Nipping at the bruises he had left there that are faded and nearly gone.

“Crowley, Satan,” Aziraphale begins but backs away.

Crowley chases after him for a second before sitting back up. “I’m Crowley to you, Love. I always have been. I always will be.” He tells his… Aziraphale.

Aziraphale just watches him. Studying him. “How many of those commendations did you really earn doing what they said you were doing?” He asks suddenly.

And Crowley pales.

“All of them, didn’t you?” Aziraphale asks. Aziraphale backs away and untangles himself from Crowley's embrace. His breathing is picking up. He’s panicking.

Crowley’s eyes go wide. Aziraphale is now hyperventilating. Angels… Demons don’t need to breathe but the corporal form is still subject to the laws of nature and when Aziraphale hyperventilates, his body pays the price.

Crowley jumps up and grabs hold of Aziraphale’s shoulders firmly but gently. “Aziraphale, Love. I need you to take deep breaths for me.” It’s not working. “Aziraphale,” His hands go to cup Aziraphale’s face. “Listen to me. To the sound of my voice. I need you to breathe with me. I need you to breath in through your nose,” Aziraphale complies. “And out through your mouth.” And again, Aziraphale does so. “Just like that, My own.” And he continues to talk Aziraphale through breathing for several long minutes until Aziraphale’s eyes clear of panic. Instead his eyes fill with tears and Crowley can do nothing as Aziraphale starts to sob but he is not hyperventilating any more. “Oh, Aziraphale.” Crowley wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and pulls him to his chest.

“You lied to me. Everything.”

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale. The King of Demons. I told you I’m never nice.”

“You’re nice to me. And you saved the world. God you were trying to get me to kill your son… your son! What?” And he is crying again.

“I will explain everything, my Love. Yes, I have been trying to get you to Fall.”And another heaving sob. “But only so I could have you. I love you, I’ve always loved you. But for so long, I wanted to possess you. To break you and remake you. To chain you up and never let you go. Those chains in the Bastille almost broke me. But I want you happy more than anything, now. If… If you say to leave and never come back… It would break me but I would. Say the word. You can have everything in my power even if what you want is for me to go away.”

“I don’t want you to go away.” Aziraphale murmurs into Crowley’s chest and he almost misses it. But he gives a small smile hearing it.

“I mean it. Anything you want.” Crowley says again.

“I want you,” Aziraphale says softly.

“You have always had me, My own.” Crowley tells him and it’s the truth.

Aziraphale raises his head to look up into Crowley’s eyes. “Kiss me?” He whispers

“Always,” Crowley answers softly before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s lips and lets Aziraphale be the one to deepen it. And he does. Soon the room is filled with the sound of moans and whimpers as their tongues tangle.

“I want you.” Aziraphale says earnestly.

“You can have me.” Crowley answers and, finally putting his wings away, climbs back into the bed. He lounges out, stretching and putting himself on display, and reaches out a hand to beckon Aziraphale into the bed. Aziraphale smiles and grabs hold of Crowley’s offered hand and lets himself be pulled gently into the bed and settled between Crowley’s legs. He is pulled gently down and into kissing distance and they share another passionate kiss as Aziraphale’s hands run over Crowley’s legs and hips and sides.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Aziraphale’s hand grazes over Crowley’s nipples, Crowley gives a groan of pleasure and feels Aziraphale smirk against his lips. His angel has a naughty streak. Aziraphale pulls away from kissing him and moves to press open mouthed kisses along the long column of his neck and bites at the junction where neck meets shoulder. Crowley moans and tilts his neck giving his… Aziraphale more room to work a mark into his neck. Claiming. And the thought makes his cock twitch. It had begun to harden when they had first climbed into the bed and by now was quite invested in the proceedings.

“Aziraphale,” he moans, his hands tangling in Aziraphale's curls and Aziraphale chuckles, letting go of the flesh in his mouth. He moves further down kissing along Crowley’s chest pausing to lick and suck and nip at one nipple as his hands tweaks and pinches at the other. Crowley lets out an undignified whimper and drops back to the bed head thrown back in pleasure, panting. And Aziraphale switches sides.

Finally, when the nubs are quite pebbled and sensitive, Aziraphale moves, coming back up to press quick and dirty kisses to Crowley’s lips. Aziraphale gives a snap and summons a bottle of lube and opening the top, spreads some of the cool gel onto his fingers. Slowly, his fingers circle the rim of Crowley’s entrance until Crowley gives a whine of encouragement and Aziraphale smirks.

“Look at you. So eager. How the mighty have Fallen.” Aziraphale croons. And Crowley’s eyes roll back in his head as the finger finally breaches him.

“Aziraphale, My Love. Please,” Crowley begs.

“Shh,” Aziraphale hushes him gently and taking pity on him, begins to move. Slowly stretching and thrusting first one finger and then slowly inserting another. Crowley feels full and squirms in excitement at feeling his angel, always and forever his angel, moving in him.

“Please,” he whines. “Aziraphale, I want you, now. Please.” And Aziraphale smiles, he is three fingers deep and Crowley is begging to be taken.

“Alright,” his angel says softly and removes his fingers from Crowley’s arse. He uses more lube to slick his throbbing member and gives a groan of his own. Slowly, Aziraphale lines himself up with Crowley’s entrance and softly begins to push in.

“Ah,” Crowley cries out in pleasure at the feeling of being breached and filled. Once the head of Aziraphale's cock is in he keeps moving steadily until he is seated fully inside of the King of Hell. Aziraphale pauses panting from the effort of going slowly for his new bosses sake and bent double, his head resting on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley feels full. So full. Full of his angel but also full of love and lust and desire. He gives a whine and thrusts back onto Aziraphale’s cock and clenches around him. And Aziraphale moans. Aziraphale gives an experimental thrust and Crowley hisses out a “Yesssss. That’s it. Please.”

Aziraphale straightens up and gives another roll of his hips. His hands latch on to Crowley’s hips to hold him steady and he begins to thrust. Gently at first merely rolling his hips but soon he is pulling out and thrusting in forcefully.

“Ah, yes. Yes. Please. More, Aziraphale. I love you. Just like that.” Crowley babbles. And Aziraphale complies. Soon he’s pounding into the King below him and using his bruising grip on his hips to pull him back down on his throbbing cock.

Crowley gives a cry of ecstasy as his hands scramble for purchase on the silk sheets and settle for gripping at Aziraphale’s strong forearms. “Fuck. That’s perfect, you’re perfect.” He says and his hand moves to close around his own cock.

Aziraphale brushes away his hand and closes his own fist around Crowley’s prick and strokes. It’s messy and out of sync but it’s perfect. And soon Crowley is giving another cry of rapture as he comes spurting over his stomach and Aziraphale’s fist. He feels himself clenching down on the cock in his arse and feels as Aziraphale’s rhythm stutters and stops as he thrusts once more deeply and finishes, spurting deep inside Crowley’s channel. Aziraphale keeps stroking until Crowley gives a whine at the overstimulation. Aziraphale is panting from exertion and pulls out slowly and collapses at Crowley’s side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley turns over onto his side facing his… his love. And lets his hand come up to run gently across Aziraphale’s skin. Aziraphale opens his eyes and looks over at Crowley and gives a bright smile which Crowley echoes. Crowley leans over to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips and Aziraphale's hand comes up to clutch at the back of Crowley’s head, keeping him in place.

“I love you, Aziraphale.” Crowley says as he backs away to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.

“You can call me Angel, Crowley. I miss it.” And Crowley gives him a great smile and leans down again to kiss him.

“Get some rest, Angel. We have to head back to Hell soon.” Crowley tells him and Aziraphale tilts his head questioningly. “I have to come clean about who I am to them. And I need to take care of a couple of them. Hastur for one, Dagon for another. And decide what to do about Beelzebub. Xe has been running Hell for me but xe has made me angry, talking down to my son like that.”

“Your son. How did that come about, Crowley?”

“I woke up one day pregnant. I’m so sorry I had to decline all those months of generous invitations to dine with you. I wanted to join you so badly but couldn’t explain what was happening. I hated that child in those days. But I thought… we were raising him together and it made it tolerable. He doesn’t seem a bad kid but I kind of wish we had had the chance to raise him together.” Crowley admits.

“You mean She just… made you pregnant? That’s horrible. I can’t imagine what you went through. Nine months of complete isolation. I’m so sorry you couldn’t confide in me, dearest.” Aziraphale says softly.

“It was my own fault. For lying to you for so long. After a time, I just didn’t know how to tell you, even had I wanted to. But I enjoyed being Crowley for you. Of the freedom to not have so many responsibilities weighing me down.”

“I’m glad you have a way out, darling. But you are right. We should probably come clean to your people. After all, how are you going to rule the Heavens if you can’t tell anyone who you are?”

“I don’t want to rule the Heavens. I just want you.” Crowley admits.

“And I don’t want to leave your side. We’ve murdered the Archangels. If you want to take over Heaven, now is the time.”

“I’m alright. I don’t need Heaven as long as I have you in my arms.” Crowley says, wondering when he got to be so sappy. Probably when his angel said he loved him.

Aziraphale hums contentedly. “Please don’t lie to me again. Tell me if you can’t answer but never lie to me.” Aziraphale asks and Crowley’s heart breaks a little.

“I swear it. No more secrets.” Crowley promises.

“I don’t mind privacy but no more lying.”

“Everything I am is yours, Aziraphale.” Crowley tells him seriously.

Aziraphale is quiet for long moments, his hands running over Crowley’s arms wrapped around him. “I killed Michael because I wanted to. He had Sandalphon and Uriel attack me, did you now? They assaulted me across the street from the bookshop. They were very bad angels.” He pauses. “And because I wanted you. Your people… wouldn’t appreciate having an angel as a King’s Consort. And because he would never have left us alone. If I’m going to be with you, I need to be an equal, not a pet.”

“So no chaining you to my bed and keeping you for days as my own secret?” Crowley asks teasingly.

Aziraphale’s pupils dilate and he hums deliciously.

“Only I have the chains all set up in the Palace.” Crowley continues smiling.

Aziraphale swallows heavily.

“Oh, Angel, the things I’ve wanted to do to you.” Crowley whispers against his neck nipping the skin and working another mark into the delicate flesh.

“Later.” Aziraphale mutters his head tilting to give more access and a slight moan. “Later you can tell me all about it. Now we have to get some rest and head back to Hell. So you can deal with Hastur and Dagon and Beelzebub.”

“Alright.” Crowley says around the flesh held between his teeth, pulling back letting the abused flesh snap back into place, darkened to a deep purple. He smirks. _His_. “But first, you get some more sleep.” he says kindly and places a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. “Falling takes a lot out of you.”

Aziraphale nods slightly before closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off. Crowley watches him for long moments before he too closes his eyes and, wrapped around his angel, falls asleep. Tomorrow, or whenever they wake up, they will deal with Hell. But for now, just being in Aziraphale’s arms is enough like Heaven for him.


	18. In Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley wake and make their way to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not actually very happy with this chapter but can't seem to get it right. So I'm posting the best I can get it.

They wake the next morning. Or rather Crowley wakes the next morning and presses gentle butterfly kisses against Aziraphale’s eyelids and nose and cheeks until the newly Fallen angel wakes smiling.

“Good morning, My own.” Crowley says delightedly.

“Good morning, my dear.” Aziraphale answers, smiling fit to burst.

“Are you ready to destroy some demons?” Crowley asks teasingly.

“Are you really going to destroy them?” Aziraphale questions nervously.

“They have tried my patience for 6000 years. Hastur tried to kill me. And tried to have me tortured. Dagon took much too much pleasure in seeing me laid low and, from what you told me of the trial, was more than happy to see me destroyed. Same with Beezlebub. The only reason I am thinking of sparing xir is that xe is able to rule Hell in my place and handle the paperwork that comes with it. Xe was my confidant in Heaven before the Fall. It made sense xe would continue in that line in Hell.” Crowley admits.

“I see.” Aziraphale says calmly. “Then you have to destroy them.”

“They wouldn’t have dared if they knew who I was but… I didn’t want them to know before you did. They wouldn’t have understood loving an angel. They simply want to destroy them all. They wanted that war just as badly as the Archangels.”

“I understand.” Aziraphale says simply. And they sit in quiet contemplation, soaking in the silence of being with each other, hands gently trailing sweeping irregular paths over skin.

“I saved you something.” Crowley says suddenly.

“Oh?” Aziraphale questions.

“I saved you the sword. Do you think it will still flame?” Crowley asks idly, hands now making the path across his lover’s chest his head tucked into Aziraphale’s neck.

“Maybe with infernal fire? I doubt it would flame with holy fire if I’m not an angel.” Aziraphale answers.

Crowley hums thoughtfully and then sighs. “I know we have to go but I don’t want to leave this bed.” Crowley admits.

“Neither do I,” Aziraphale says quietly. “But, the sooner we get to Hell, the sooner we can explore those chains.” He teases.

Crowley hums intrigued. “You would let me chain you up?”

“I trust you.” Aziraphale says simply.

“I love you,” Crowley says simply and earnestly.

“I love you as well, dear heart. Now, Up! Time to take over Heaven and Hell.” He says enthusiastically and Crowley laughs as he sits up and puts his feet on the floor.

“We should probably take a shower. Like to join me?” Crowley asks, his arm outstretched.

“I would love to,” Aziraphale says, taking the offered hand and following his King into the nearby bathroom. The room is enormous with a large walk-in serenity shower and a huge soaking tub and Aziraphale gawks.

“Bath or shower?” Crowley asks smiling salaciously.

Aziraphale swallows heavily. “Shower,” he says, voice slightly strangled.

Crowley just smiles wider and pulls his Fallen angel over to the great shower and turns on the water to the perfect warm temperature. And together they walk in. The shower heads above them make it seem like rainfall and Aziraphale closes his eyes as he stands under the gentle spray. Crowley watches him for a moment just soaking in the sight of his angel so at peace. But they can’t stand there forever so reluctantly, Crowley pulls his… his lover in further under the spray.

Demons don’t necessarily need to shower but Crowley had started around Rome when bathing was considered essential and a time for relaxation and pampering. He enjoyed it and had taken to bathing regularly even through those times it fell out of fashion. Angel, he knew, had never seen the need for it. He resolved to pamper his lover starting with washing his pale curls.

Crowley lathers up his hands and digs his hands into his lover’s pale hair and Aziraphale gives a groan of pleasure, his head tilting back to allow Crowley room to work. Crowley smirks as he massages his angel’s scalp working the shampoo in and letting the warm water rinse it out again. Crowley takes his time washing his angel from head to toe and takes a pleasurable thrill in his angel smelling like him. Aziraphale stands under the warm spray and watches Crowley with a knowing smile as he takes the time to lather up every inch of the newly Fallen and watching the water run down the drain. Crowley pays special attention to his lover’s groin and smirks as he feels him harden in his hand. Aziraphale whines as Crowley moves on without finishing what he started.

Crowley smirks again at the frustrated sigh from his lover and jumps when he feels Aziraphale’s hands in his hair tugging gently to guide him to his knees. He smiles licentiously. As he eyes the erection in front of him.

“You are insatiable, Angel.” he teases.

“You’ve quite ruined me, my dear.” Aziraphale agrees.

“I don’t consider it ruined. I love it.” Crowley answers as he takes his lover’s cock in hand and leans forward to swallow it down. Aziraphale gives a shout of surprise and his head falls back in pleasure. Crowley hums around the prick in his mouth and hears an answering moan from above him. He works quickly, bobbing his head and sucking, drawing out moans and mewls from the Fallen above him. Soon, Aziraphale’s hands in his hair are tightening and he feels the cock in his mouth give a burst of salty spend into the back of his throat. He swallows it down and tastes salt and something that he has until now considered holy when he tasted it on his tongue before his angel Fell.

Aziraphale gives a moan of satisfaction and pulls Crowley off his knees and up to press filthy kisses to his mouth. Crowley smiles into the kiss before pulling away. His lover takes over pressing Crowley against the wall of the shower and grabbing the soap from the shelf there. He takes his time kissing Crowley before digging his hands into Crowley’s hair and returning the favour of soaping him up and rinsing him down. Crowley feels Aziraphale’s knee pressing between his thighs and gives an aborted thrust against the pressure there. His lover’s hands reach down to grasp him, hands slick with soap proving to be perfect for Crowley to thrust into. He presses filthy kisses into Aziraphale’s neck as he thrusts forcefully into the fist around his cock before spilling with a sigh. Aziraphale smiles as he lets the water run down his hand, washing the demonic spend from his hand.

“Are we ready?” Aziraphale asks teasingly.

Crowley presses another filthy kiss to his mouth. “We are ready.” he says, turning off the water and pulling his lover out and towelling him down and then himself. “Best get dressed. I don’t want to have to kill even more demons for seeing you like that.”

Aziraphale just smiles as he gets dressed, piling on the layers until he is back to his regular self. Crowley gathers his clothes from the floor and dresses, finishing much sooner than his lover.

“I want to take us directly into my quarters in the Palace. Then we can make our way into the upper offices and summon Beelzebub, Dagon, and Hastur. I want to destroy them in front of the others.” Crowley tells him gravely.

“Will that scare the others, or make them rebel?” Aziraphale asks. “Will they consider you a traitor to the cause for what you’ve done?”

“What I’ve done is kill the Archangels. Hastur has always been a little upstart, Dagon too. Beelzebub is the only one I know is loyal down there. And even xe talked down to my son.” Crowley says.

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t kill xir. Instead maim xir. Enough to make a point but not enough to make xir useless to you.” Aziraphale offers.

“Why do people think you’re the nice one?” Crowley asks seriously.

“Because I was an angel.”

“You’re still my angel.” Crowley tells him grabbing his hands and pressing gentle kisses to the backs.

“And you’re my King now. Boss.” Aziraphale teases.

“You’ve taken this awfully well,” Crowley asks.

“The worst has happened. And I’m still here. And I have you. It’s… freeing in a way to know that I can’t mess up again. She can’t Fell me twice. I’ve thought about it for many many years. What I would do if I Fell. And I resolved to accept it. Why do you think I was so easy to tempt after a certain point? After our Arrangement, I didn’t say no because I didn’t want to Fall. I said no to protect you. If Heaven knew you had stolen an angel, they would have come after you with holy water. I couldn’t allow that. It hasn’t been about Falling. Not for me. Not for a very long time.” Aziraphale admits firmly.

“You amaze me, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale hums and then wrinkles his face up in thought. “Should I change my name?”

Crowley’s eyes go wide and he almost shouts in negation.

“Only, I’m quite sure every demon changed their name. Unless you would like me to call you Lucifer?” Aziraphale teases.

Crowley sighs in relief. “It’s up to you. I had everyone change their names because She had given those names to us and then She cast us out. But you… you chose to Fall. I think you could keep your name. I quite like your name after all.”

“You do? You haven’t used it for centuries. I’ve been Angel to you for centuries, since the Globe at least.”

“Because you are my Angel. Mine,” Crowley growls teasingly, pulling his angel flush against his chest.

“Yours,” Aziraphale sighs breathlessly. “Now, to Hell. Sure you don’t want to take the front door? Really make them panic?”

“You think they would?”Crowley asks.

“If the two of us walked in arm in arm. The two immune to Hellfire and Holy Water.” Aziraphale gives a feral grin and Crowley feels himself smile a diabolical smile. His angel is ruthless.

“Front door it is then. Let me grab the Holy Water.” Crowley goes to the safe and grabs two thermoses of Holy Water and Aziraphale watches impassively.

“I should grab the sword.” Aziraphale says and looks around and spotting it on the desk takes hold of it. It immediately starts to flame. They both look at one another and shrug.

It doesn’t take long to get to the Tower in the Bentley and soon they are walking through the front doors and towards the down escalator. They both fade down into the reflection, though it takes a moment for Aziraphale to fall through the floor. Soon they are walking up to the gates of Hell and the denizens are cowering away. A very brave and very stupid demon stops them demanding what they want in Hell.

“I demand to speak to Beelzebub.” Crowley tells them haughtily.

“Xe isn’t speaking to traitors.” the stupid demon tells them.

“Xe is going to want to hear what I have to say.” And saying so reaches forward with claws sharp as knives and tears a hole in the demon’s throat. The demon gives a gurgle as their body collapses and he lies twitching on the ground.

“Anyone else want to stand in our way?” Aziraphale asks, smirking.

At the demon's silence, Crowley reaches back to grab a hold of Aziraphale’s arm and together they make their way through the offices of Hell and into the lower echelons near the Palace. Beelzebub greets them just outside of xeir office and Dagon and Hastur are there as well.

“Demon Crowley, what brings you here?” Beelzebub asks as if bored.

“I have come for retribution against Hastur and Dagon.” The two mentioned look nervously to each other and then scoff. “And to reclaim my throne,” He adds, letting his Crowley form recede and standing before them Lucifer-like and Satan in all his glory.

All three, and the demons that had followed them, stumble backwards in shock.

“Impossible,” Hastur says fearfully.

“Not impossible as it happened.” Aziraphale says stepping forward next to Satan and he is smiling.

“You have been a thorn in my side since you took over as a Duke, Hastur. And you, Dagon,r have taken far too much joy in witnessing the failure of a fellow demon. And you attacked me.”

“We didn’t know. You made sure we didn’t know. We did what we thought you would want done with a traitor.” Dagon tries to justify.

“You should have waited to hear from me.”

“That could take centuries. You always locked yourself in the Palace,” Beelzebub says numbly.

“Oh you are not off the hook either, Beelzebub.” Satan says turning to xir. “You dared to talk down to _my_ son. The only true Prince of Hell.” Beelzebub swallows heavily. “But you are too valuable to destroy, you will be spared. The others, however, can be replaced.” He says turning to look at the two cowering demons.

“Shall we proceed to the execution chamber? Or would you rather do it here?” Aziraphale asks calmly.

“We can do this here.” Satan says opening one of the thermoses of Holy Water and throwing it at Hastur. He screams. And the others scream and the 10,000,000 demons behind them scream as Hastur melts away.

“My Lord,” Dagon says once Hastur is just a pile of clothes.

“Dagon,” Aziraphale interrupts. “Just shut up.” And he throws his open thermos of Holy Water on her. There is less screaming this time only an aborted cry of surprise. Aziraphale tosses the thermos away, the Holy Water dripping onto the ground and causing pockmarks in the stone floor. “Oh, dear,” he says. “I seem to have got some on me.” And he looks down at the drops of water sitting innocently on his hand. He blinks and Satan blinks and they share a look that says, we will discuss this later. Before Aziraphale wipes off the water on his pants and hefts his stolen sword up on his shoulder.

“My Lord,” Beelzebub begins. “What are your orders now?”

“The Archangels are dead.” Satan begins and there is shocked silence before a cheer breaks out.

“Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon died in Hellfire. And Michael by the sword,” he gestures over to Aziraphale and there are fearful looks sent to the Avenging Angel standing at Satan’s side. Aziraphale smiles and waves with the fingers grasping the hilt of his purloined sword. “Now, I’ll leave you to decide what to do with that information. My angel and I will be in the Palace. I don’t much care how you decide to run things as long as you leave us be. We will be on Earth and in the Palace. And lend a hand when needed but I quite enjoy the way things have been going. You do good work Beelzebub. Just don’t forget your place.” Satan finishes with a growl.

“Of course, my Lord.” Beelzebub says bowing low to the ground. When Satan turns to look out at the masses, they all bow as low as possible without ending up on the floor, though some do fall to their knees. Satan reaches out a hand to Aziraphale and donning his more comfortable Crowley persona leads his angel into the Palace. They have a life to get to.


	19. Hostile Takeover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale enact a hostile takeover of Heaven but things don't go to plan.

“Think they will invade Heaven?” Aziraphale asks as the door closes behind him.

“I truly don’t know. And I don’t care. We have some chains to inspect.” Crowley says, pulling his angel into his arms.

Aziraphale smiles a moment but it soon drops. “That was Holy Water.” He says. And Crowley’s smile too drops.

“It was.” Crowley agrees.

“I’m still alive.” Aziraphale says simply.

“Thankfully.” And Crowley presses gentle kisses to Aziraphale’s hand where the water had been sitting.

“It stung a little like… drops of hot oil when you are cooking. But it didn’t cause any damage.” Aziraphale admits smiling at his King’s attention.

“Now that you mention it. That’s what the diluted Holy Water felt like.” Crowley says, still inspecting Aziraphale’s hand.

“What diluted Holy Water?” Aziraphale asks, pulling his hand away. Crowley let’s him go with a pout.

“When Hastur and Ligur came to collect me. I managed to kill Ligur with most of the Holy Water but some of it I had to put diluted into a plant mister. When the water dripped onto me and then Hastur dissolved the plastic and I got all wet, well it stung like your tears but didn’t do anything else. No damage. No death. No nothing.” Crowley tells him, showing his own untouched hands.

“Crowley, Love. That should have killed you.” Aziraphale says slowly. “Holy water blessed by an angel blesses that which it touches.” He explains lowly. “You should be a pile of goo and clothes like Hastur, Dagon, and Ligur.”

“Huh,” Crowley says. “And what about you? That was definitely Holy Water and you definitely Fell. But I noticed it took you a moment to sink when we came in.”

“It was like I was trying to rise again. Like it didn’t want to allow me down for a moment.”

“Something strange is going on.” Crowley says suspiciously.

“Maybe you are immune to Holy Water for real because of who you are?” Aziraphale offers.

“I’m not going to be testing that theory.” Crowley tells him.

“I didn’t think you should. But I’ve been thinking. I really should have known who you were ages ago. At least during the Blitz.” Aziraphale says, his gaze focused on some far off point in time.

“What about the Blitz?” Crowley asks guiding his angel further into the room and to sit on the edge of the huge bed.

“Well, only you could walk on consecrated ground and only come out with some burns. Any other demon is discorporated immediately.” Aziraphale tells him gravely. “And that’s not all. You can control and create Hellfire. No other demon can do that. You are special in a way other demons aren’t. Whether it’s just that you have more power or if She still considers you one of Her favourites, no one will ever know. She certainly isn’t talking to anyone. I have my theories about when She stopped and all the horrible things done in Her name by Heaven. But that’s a discussion for another day.”

“I’m more concerned with how you survived Holy Water, Aziraphale. You Fell. I saw you. I caught you.” Crowley says.

“Maybe because you caught me?”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Crowley says skeptically.

“It’s not like we are going to get answers for any of our questions.” Aziraphale reminds him. “She isn’t going to talk to us.”

There is a knocking at the door. “Szire,” Beelzebub buzzes. “We are preparing to march on the Gates of Heaven. It would mean a lot if you would lead us.”

Crowley and Aziraphale share a look then look to the bed and back to each other and sigh. They stand together and make their way to the door. Opening it they see Beelzebub standing ready to fight. Aziraphale still has his sword in hand and looking to Crowley, nods his head. Crowley looks back and smiles.

“Very well. It’s time to take over Heaven.” He says simply and begins to walk out the Palace, out of the offices and up the stairs. Reaching ground floor with his army at his back he pauses, and reaching to the side, grabs a hold of Aziraphale’s hand before beginning the trek up to the Gates of Heaven.

The Gates are guarded, as they have been since the Fall, by four Cherubs, their four faces looking every which way. But as the army of Hell approaches, they lower their weapons and step aside. Just inside the gates is the Metatron with the whole of the host at his back. The first thing that Crowley notices about the host is that aside from the four guardians of the gate, they are all of them unarmed. They are also pale and shaking. He raises his hand to stop his people from charging forward. And walks forward himself bringing his angel with him. They meet the Metatron just at the Gates of Heaven. Aziraphale’s hand in his is clammy and shaking. But his other hand wields the sword stolen from Michael steadily.

“Metatron,” Crowley greets. “I see you are unarmed. Does this mean you surrender?”

“It does, Lucifer,” and Crowley growls. “The Almighty does not wish Her children to fight.”

“That’s news to me, considering how little She did in stopping Armageddon.” Crowley says viciously.

“I do not pretend to understand the ways of the Almighty.” Metatron says.

“Then open the gates and let us be friends.” Crowley whispers. And Aziraphale’s hand slips out of his. Crowley pauses to look back at his angel and sees Aziraphale with his sword pointed at Crowley.

“We aren’t going to hurt them, Crowley.” Aziraphale says calmly but forcefully.

“Angel,” Crowley croons. And Aziraphale shakes his head.

“We aren’t going to hurt them.” He says again. And Crowley's eyes narrow.

“Angel, my love, let’s not do this here. They have to go.”

“No, they don’t. Adam wouldn’t want us to kill each other to see who’s best. Remember? Your son.” Aziraphale says and all 20,000,000 angels and demons hold their collective breath.

“Adam is a child…”

“And I don’t want you to kill them.” Aziraphale adds softly.

“Do you think any one of them would speak up for you? Angel,” Crowley says softly. “They were prepared to watch you die in Hellfire.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to do the same. We can’t just kill them all.” And the sword flames in his hands.

“Angel, don’t make me do something we will both regret.”

“Crowley, I love you but destroying them won’t solve anything. They aren’t the reason you Fell.” Aziraphale says quietly.

And Crowley sees red. His hand reaches out closing around his angel’s throat and Aziraphale is stunned. He pulls the newly Fallen close by his throat.

“What would you know of my Fall?” he growls.

Aziraphale’s eyes are wide and frightened. The sword hanging loosely in his hands between them. It would only take one small movement to have the sword impaling him in the stomach but Crowley knows his angel. He wouldn’t dare.

Aziraphale’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. His mouth working but the hand around his throat too tight to allow sound. There are tears in his angel’s eyes and Crowley feels a frisson of something. The desire he was used to, the guilt he had started to feel in the 1300’s, but this was something entirely else. Something he can’t put a name to.

Crowley’s other hand comes up to cup his angel’s cheek and wipe away the tears there. His hand moves to grasp the back of Aziraphale’s head and brings him in close so Crowley can hold him tightly in his arms. “My angel,” he croons softly. “Why do you push me so?”

“They had nothing to do with your Fall, Crowley. Don’t you remember?” Aziraphale asks softly.

“What would you know of my Fall?” Crowley asks back, voice gentler now.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” Aziraphale asks. And Crowley pulls back. “I thought maybe… but you don’t.”

“You aren’t Aziraphale?” Crowley questions.

“I’m Raphael, Crowley.” Aziraphale says. “The Forgotten.”

“Raphael?” Crowley asks.

“She stole my memory from you. From everyone. For trying to help you. For trying to catch you.”

And Crowley swallows as memories of a brother Archangel with a sweet face and sweeter voice come rushing back. As memories of kisses pressed to eyelids and hands mix with more recent memories of kisses pressed to lips. Memories of a Fall and screaming, screaming that wasn’t his own, screaming of loss. And hands clutching at his own as the burning pain in his wings and skin spread out.

Crowley is crying. Crowley never cries. He is Satan and he does not show weakness like crying. But Crowley is crying. Aziraphale, Raphael, is reaching for him, his hand not around the hilt of his stolen sword reaching out to grasp at Crowley’s shoulder and the back of his head trying to bring him closer. Crowley lets himself be pulled in and allows the kisses pressed to the crown of his head.

“We can’t kill them all, Crowley.” Aziraphale, Raphael, Aziraphale says and Crowley nods numbly.

He swallows heavily, straightens up, and looks to Metatron standing just out of reach. He seems as stunned as Crowley feels.

“You surrender?” Crowley asks and Metatron nods. “Then I want a word with the Almighty.” Crowley says as the Gates of Heaven open and he marches inside. “Beelzebub. They are not to be harmed.” He calls out and Aziraphale follows him through Heaven and to the throne of the Almighty. It is made of silver and pearl and is empty but for the glow settling on the throne.

“I want answers.” Crowley calls out. And the light coalesces into the form of a middle aged woman. A woman who might be a mother but might be more than that.

“You always have, my Lightbringer.”

“Mother,” Aziraphale greets.

“Raphael.”

“Aziraphale.” He corrects and she nods.

“Why?” Crowley demands. “Why take his memory from me? From everyone? Why did I Fall?”

“You always have had so many questions, my Lightbringer.”

“Then maybe start talking.” He says testily.

“You Fell for refusing orders. I told you to do something and you refused. And so I cast you out.”

“What did I refuse to do?”

“To test them.”

He swallows heavily. He remembers. She told him to test Her creations. The angels and the humans. And he said no. So She… what did She do?

“You didn’t cast me out at first.”

“No, I took him from you. You had fallen too much in love with your brother. You refused to test him.”

She had taken the memory of Raphael. She had taken Raphael from everyone. Replaced him with Aziraphale.

“Why test him? Why test all of them?” his voice echoes brokenly around the room. Echoes through time, of the last time he stood here with Her.

“Because, I needed to know.”

“Know what?”

“That he loved you back.” And she is gone. Even the glow on the throne is gone.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asks.

“I still don’t understand.” he says brokenly, staring at the throne of God.

“You always were Her favourite. The only one She didn’t feel the need to test. She ordered you to test my loyalty to Her and to you. And you refused. You were always meant to test the humans like you did. Lightbringer.” Aziraphale says softly.

Crowley feels more tears in his eyes as he shakes his head violently. “Why would She take those memories?”

“So you wouldn’t wait for me.” Aziraphale’s voice sounds closer than before. His hand comes up to rest on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley gives a sob and Aziraphale wraps his arms around him as Crowley's head tilts back to stare at the starry ceiling unseeing.

“I hate her.” Crowley says through his tears.

“I know you do,” Aziraphale says simply. “Let us go back to Hell. Leave the angels to their Heaven. You have a mighty kingdom to rule and we both have the Earth.”

Crowley stands weeping for long moments until the Metatron approaches.

“Lucifer, Beelzebub wishes to speak with you.” Metatron says and Crowley nods.

He reaches back for Aziraphale’s hand and together they make their way out to the Gates of Heaven. Beelzebub and the demons have refused to enter into Heaven and as Crowley and Aziraphale approach, Beelzebub relaxes slightly.

“My Lords,” xe says respectfully. “If we are not to harm them what are we to do?”

“We return to Hell. Let the angels have their Heaven. We have our own kingdom.” Crowley says testily. Beelzebub nods and at a signal from xir the hosts of Hell turn and make their way back down to Hell.

“Thank you, Crowley.” Aziraphale says quietly.

“We still have things to discuss, Raphael.” Crowley responds angrily.

“Of course, Sire.” Raphael answers bowing his head and taking his place behind Crowley on the escalator heading down.

They reach the bottom floor and make their way through the hosts of demons getting back to work and head down to the Palace. Crowley wrenches open the door and gestures Aziraphale in before he enters slamming the door behind him. 


	20. The Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale talk and then they play with those chains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is more porn as requested. Crowley and Aziraphale play at non-con. Kinks are under negotiated but no safe wording happens. As always skip from line break(~~) to line break to skip.

Crowley is angry. Crowley is more than angry Crowley is livid. His angel lied to him. Angel talked back to him. Angel raised a weapon to him. Angel, Aziraphale, _Raphael_ was the one to insist no more lies between them. And then he continues to hide his own identity. No wonder he wasn’t upset at learning Crowley’s true identity.

“So, Raphael,” Crowley says and Aziraphale flinches. “I suppose I know why you took my own persona so easily. And why it was so easy for you to choose to Fall for me. But you lied. You were the one who asked… no demanded no more lies between us.” Aziraphale keeps his head down through Crowley’s speech. “Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Would you have believed me? I thought you recognized me. And then knowing She had made everyone forget me. You wouldn’t have known even if I had said something.” Aziraphale tries quietly. He stands before Crowley, tired and with tears in his eyes and Crowley feels his chest clench.

It’d be hypocritical to hold Aziraphale at fault for the same thing as he himself did for 6000 years. But it still stings. “You should have said something. Did Gabriel know? Did any of our brother Archangels? Did you recognize me?”

“She erased me from everyone’s memory. Even theirs. And replaced them with me. Aziraphale.” His angel sighs. “And when you still refused to test the humans, she took all those who had sided with you and Cast them out. Taking your memory of the reason for your Fall. And then you did exactly as She had wanted. You tested them. I didn’t recognize you. You look different enough that I couldn’t see you in there. I was quite distressed when I realized I was falling in love with you. I wanted to tell you, Crowley. When you came clean to me I wanted to tell you. I wanted to be like we were in Heaven. And like we were on Earth. To love you like that. I still do.” Aziraphale assures him.

“Then why didn’t you Fall with us the first time? Why were you so afraid to Fall?”

“Because I had loved you, Lucifer. I loved you the way She made me to love you. But I also loved Her. She was right. She had to be. Just because I couldn’t understand why She would take me from everyone didn’t mean that She didn’t have a plan for me.” Aziraphale admits. “I was afraid. I was afraid to Fall if you weren’t there to catch me. I had tried to convince you to test me like She had asked you to but you refused. You never told me how She had planned to test me. But now I see this was it. To see if I could love you even without knowing you were made for me.”

“You still believe in her Great Plan?” Crowley asked incredulously.

“I have to. If I don’t then all our suffering and time spent pining and wanting were done for no reason. I don’t want that to be the case. I want to love you because I was always meant to love you. Not because She tried to separate us and failed.”

“I only remember bits and pieces of you.” Crowley admits frankly.

“It’s more than I ever thought I would get.” Aziraphale says tearfully.

“I do love you, Raphael.”

“Aziraphale. I’ve only ever been Aziraphale for… everyone now.”

“Angel,” Crowley says instead. “Come here,” and he opens his arms and Aziraphale enters his embrace and together they cling to each other like drowning. Aziraphale has his head tucked into the crook of Crowley's neck and Crowley presses chaste kisses to the crown of his head and the tips of his ears. And Aziraphale gives a sigh of contentment.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says softly. “Do you still want me?”

“Any way I can have you,” Crowley replies.

“Because, my King, I believe we were testing out some chains.” Aziraphale says cheekily.

Crowley hums delightedly. And his hands travel from around Aziraphale's shoulders to around his waist to squeeze the globes of his arse gently. “Do we?” And Aziraphale gives a jump of surprise at the manhandling. “Whatever am I to do with a naughty angel?” He asks rhetorically.

Aziraphale just hums noncommittally. Crowley walks his angel backwards to the bed and once his angel is sitting at the foot of the bed, snaps his fingers and the infernal irons at the foot of the bed clamp around his angel’s ankles.

Aziraphale gives a hiss of discomfort. “Alright, angel?”

“The infernal iron stings a bit. Like the holy water.”

“Would you rather I trade them out for human iron?” Crowley asks seriously.

“No. No it’s fine.” Aziraphale assures him. “I promise.” he adds at Crowley's doubtful look.

“I will hold you to that, Angel,” Crowley tells him. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, dealing with a wayward angel.” And so saying, Crowley wraps one slender hand around Aziraphale's neck and pushes gently until the former angel is laying back on the bed. With another snap the irons at the head clamp around Aziraphale's wrists and pull him up the bed to rest in the middle of the large bed, his hands bound together above his head. Another snap has his angel’s clothes set aside on a dresser across the room.

Crowley stalks around the bed examining the angel chained in the middle watching as Aziraphale twists fruitlessly at his chains. “Now, what do we say if we want this to stop?”

“Umm… stop?” Aziraphale asks.

“I think we are going to need something a bit more tonight. Are you familiar with the concept of a safeword?”

“I believe so. I say it and we stop.” Aziraphale says.

“Yes. You use it when stop can sometimes mean go on. When we play like this. I don’t want to think you mean yes when you really mean stop. So, can you think of a word to say that can mean stop?”

Aziraphale takes the time to think about it seriously. Giving it the time it deserves. “Duck?” He eventually offers.

“Duck? Is that your safeword?”

“Yes.”

“And you will use it?” Crowley asks, making sure to stand in Aziraphale’s eyesight and meet his gaze.

“I trust you, Lucifer. But yes. I will say ‘Duck’ if I need you to stop.”

“You had better. If you don’t use your safeword I won’t play with you again for a very long time. I don’t want to hurt you, Raphael.”

“I deserve that.” Aziraphale says. “Alright, Crowley.” And he nods to go ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crowley moves out of his line of sight again and takes his time examining the angel in his bed. He strips out of his shirt and shoes and socks leaving him in his tight jeans that are getting even tighter as he stalks his prey. He notices Aziraphale already growing hard as well and smirks.

“Look what a pleasant present I have waiting in my bed.” He says teasingly. “Wherever did they get me an angel to play with?”

“Demon,” Aziraphale says angrily. And his angel is a spitfire.

“I don’t think you want to be getting an attitude with me, little lost angel.” Crowley says coming to the foot of the bed and watching his angel.

“What do you want with me?”

“Anything I like.” Crowley responds.

“You won’t get away with this, demon.”

“Oh, I think I will. After all, who’s going to stop me? Who even cares that you are so very far from home, little angel?” Crowley croons pityingly. His hand landing gently on his angel’s calf and slowly dragging upwards to the knee.

Aziraphale tries to jerk his leg out from under Crowley’s hand but finds his legs pulled taut against the bed, his ankles pointing to each corner of the expansive bed.

Crowley notices his angel’s eyes blown wide as his limbs are pulled tightly across the bed. Crowley smirks as he climbs up onto the bed kneeling with his knees to either side of the angel’s hips.

“I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of having you chained to this bed, Angel.” He admits. “And seeing you here is even better than I imagined it.” His hands dance lightly up his angel’s thighs missing his growing erection by millimetres.

Aziraphale swallows heavily. “Let me go,” He whispers.

“No. No, I don’t think I will.” Crowley tells him calmly.

Crowley leans down to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his angel’s mouth. Aziraphale keeps his mouth stubbornly shut and Crowley smiles gently at him. He reaches up viciously to pry open Aziraphale’s mouth with his fingers pressing behind his jaw and forcing his mouth to open. And Crowley takes the opportunity to kiss him quick and filthy, tongue invading his angel’s mouth licking his way into the open mouth below him.

“So stubborn.” He says admiringly. “You will beg me before the end.” He tells the angel. “What you beg me for is yet to be determined.”

“Crowley,” Angel says and Crowley smiles.

“Not Crowley, Angel. Satan.”

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide and he gasps. But Crowley doesn’t change his form and he relaxes slightly. Crowley leans down over his angel to press filthy kisses to the column of his neck and bites hard at the pulse point and his angel cries out in shocked pain. Crowley ignores him as he sucks a mark into the skin in his mouth. Worrying the flesh until the mark is a deep purple. He pulls away to admire his work and smiles a smile full of teeth. Aziraphale whimpers.

Crowley gradually trails kisses from the mark on his angel’s neck to his chest and toying with his nipples. A pinch to the right nipple causes a delicious cry to come from the angel’s mouth and Crowley takes the opportunity to slip two fingers into the angel’s mouth. Angel gives a cut off cry at the intrusion and Crowley sits up to eye him. Using his fingers as a bit in his angel’s mouth he guides his head to and fro examining his angel from every angle. Crowley tilts his head as he examines the angel chained to his bed.

“Such a lovely thing you are.” Crowley says idly. “I will enjoy breaking you.”

His hand finds its way around his angel’s neck and squeezes gently. “You belong to me, little angel. Mine to use and mine to throw away. And I think you would look lovely with a collar on. Don’t you?” He asks rhetorically. A snap of his free hand and an infernal iron collar attached to a chain is wrapped tightly around his angel’s throat. He tests the space between the iron and the delicate flesh of his angel’s neck and can fit two fingers between the two. Satisfied he won’t be choking his angel, he pulls the chain taut between his angel’s hands to attach it to the headboard.

“Still doing alright there angel?” He asks gently. And Aziraphale nods as much as he is able with the collar around his neck chaining him to the headboard. “Words, Aziraphale.” Crowley admonishes.

“I’m fine.” Aziraphale whispers.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Good, angel.” Crowley croons petting at Aziraphale’s hair for a moment before gripping it tightly and yanking his head back to bare his throat. Aziraphale’s breathing picks up at the action. “Are you going to be a good angel for me?” Crowley asks harshly.

Aziraphale is silent. And Crowley lets out a frustrated growl. He lets go of the hair in his grasp and moves down his angel’s chest to bite and lick and suck marks into the soft skin of his chest and pays special attention to his nipples. All the attention causes his angel to arch deliciously against the restraints but he stays stubbornly silent aside from the heavy breathing.

Crowley sits up and pauses to reconsider his approach. With a snap he has stripped himself from his increasingly tight jeans and is kneeling over the angel bare. Aziraphale’s eyes stray to his cock hanging heavy and full between his legs and he swallows heavily. Crowley smirks.

“Hungry, Angel?” He asks and pries open the angel’s mouth again. “Are you going to behave or should I get you a gag?”

“Gag?” Aziraphale positively whimpers. A snap produces a double ‘o’ ring open mouth gag, the leather strip connected to two sides of a metal circle connected again by two bars to a slightly smaller metal circle designed to be inserted to keep the mouth open. Aziraphale’s eyes widen and he swallows again.

“Are you going to behave?” Crowley asks seriously.

Aziraphale very slowly shakes his head no.

“I’m going to have to gag you, Angel?” Crowley asks to clarify.

Aziraphale very slowly nods his head yes. Crowley smirks.

“Open your mouth, Angel. Or should I open it for you?” Crowley asks and without waiting for a response snaps his hand forward to force his angel’s mouth open and fitting the rings into his mouth propping it open. Aziraphale tries to struggle but Crowley can tell his heart isn’t in it as he latches the leather behind his angel’s head. Once fitted in place he moves his angel’s head back and forth before smiling down at him. His angel’s eyes are nearly black and Crowley thinks he has never looked better. He roughly grabs the back of his angel’s head by the hair and yanks his head back. With his other hand, Crowley slowly feeds his cock into the open and waiting orifice.

Crowley moans at the feel of the wet heat surrounding his throbbing prick. He gives his hips an experimental roll and hears his angel gag. He smiles. His angel could do away with that at any point. His angel wants to choke on him. He uses his angel’s mouth slowly at first making sure to go slow and deep and relishes the sounds of his angel choking on his cock. He sees tears spring to his angel’s eyes and gives a particularly deep thrust. Causing them to spill over and run from the corners of his eyes to the red silk beneath his head. His thrusts pick up and soon his hips are pistoning back and forth at a rough and steady pace.

“Angel, you have no idea how good you feel.” Crowley tells him. “Fuck,” He groans.

Aziraphale tries to moan around the hot flesh in his mouth and the vibration sends a shiver up Crowley's spine. Crowley's hands tangle in Aziraphale’s hair to hold him steady as he thrusts in quick succession into his waiting mouth and then pulls out.

His angel looks wrecked, tears trailing down his face, mouth held open and spit and precome coating his chin. He’s never looked better. Crowley has to kiss him. Now. He leans down swiftly and presses kisses to the corners of his angel’s mouth where the metal is biting into his lips.

Crowley moves to press more kisses to the edges of the collar and down the bruises and bite marks on his chest and down to his neglected cock. Crowley grasps it loosely in his fist and strokes ever so slowly and with feather light touches. And Aziraphale groans his head dropping back into the bed. Crowley smiles.

“Should I take off your gag, Angel. Only I want to hear you beg.” Crowley says as he gives another light stroke and presses his thumb across the head of the prick in his hand. Aziraphale whines and tries to thrust into the hand around him. His back arches but otherwise he is immobile. Crowley snaps his fingers and the gag undoes itself and he reaches up to slowly remove it from his angel’s mouth.

“Cr-Satan,” Aziraphale pants heavily.

“Are you ready to beg, little angel?” Crowley asks gently.

Aziraphale shakes his head no. Crowley smirks and blows a gentle stream of air over the head of the cock in front of his face. Aziraphale groans and tries to thrust up again and again is held in place by the infernal irons around his ankles and wrists and neck. Crowley takes the head of his angel’s cock into his mouth and suckles gently at it, lapping gently at the slit, and Aziraphale gives a cry of pleasure.

“P-” Aziraphale starts but cuts himself off with a strangled gasp.

“What was that, Angel?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale shakes his head. Crowley goes back to suckling gently at the head of the cock and then further back sucking first one of his angel’s stones into his mouth and then the other. Aziraphale gives a sob. Crowley sits back up and gives a hum of consideration. Then he smirks and with a snap the chains at the foot of the bed are connected to the top corners of the bed pulling his angel’s legs up and bending him near in half, exposing his arse to Crowley's gaze.

Aziraphale gives a surprised cry at the change in position. Crowley wastes no time in leaning back down to tumble his angel’s balls in his hand and then leaning further down to lick and lap at his angel’s entrance.

Aziraphale gives a gasp of surprise. “Satan!” He exclaims and moans. “G-Please,” he pants.

“What was that, Angel?” Crowley smirks.

“Please,” Aziraphale whispers again.

“Please what?”

“Please, more.” Aziraphale whimpers.

“Now that is lovely.” Crowley says, delighted. And bends back down to kiss at his angel’s channel. His tongue spears into the lovely hole stretching it and getting it all wet and slick. He presses a single slim finger in alongside his tongue and continues his filthy assault on Aziraphale’s hole.

“Please oh G-, Satan, please. I’ll be good, please more.” Aziraphale babbles, the dam of his pleasure once overrun giving voice to his pleas and incapable of stopping.

Crowley hums against his angel’s entrance and Aziraphale twitches. Crowley summons the bottle of lube from his flat and slicking his fingers thoroughly inserts two into his angel’s hot channel and crooks them, searching. Aziraphale gives a shout of pleasure and tenses. And Crowley knows he’s found what he was searching for. He rubs gently at the nub of nerves inside his angel and adds a third finger. Aziraphale is still babbling a nonsense string of pleas and cries of pleasure.

Crowley slowly removes his fingers and Aziraphale gives a sob of disappointment. “Shh, Angel. I’ve got you. I’ll take good care of you.” He croons as he slicks his own cock and slowly pushes into the hot channel. He goes slowly bottoming out deep in his angel’s body. And they both give a sigh of pleasure.

Crowley takes a moment to savour the tight heat around him before he pulls out and pushes in forcefully. He repeats the move and Aziraphale gives a cry of pleasure. “That’s it, Angel. You can take it.” And he begins thrusting in earnest. He pulls almost all the way out and back in, his angel being pushed up the bed and he pulls him back down. He teasingly pulls all the way out and Aziraphale gives a whine of protest.

“Please,” His angel says and Crowley thrusts back in powerfully.

Crowley continues pounding into his angel’s willing body, setting a bruising pace and Aziraphale whines pitifully.

“Please, Satan. Please,” Aziraphale begs.

Crowley smiles, “What do you want, Angel? Tell me.”

“Touch me, please, I want to come. I’ll be good. Please let me come.” His Angel begs.

Crowley lets go of his bruising grip on his angel’s hips to reach down and wrap one elegant hand around his angel’s member. And strokes deliberately slow. Aziraphale gives a sob.

“You can come when I tell you to.” Crowley says and strokes firmly again. His angel nods his head frantically. And Crowley indulges him. Stroking in time with his own powerful thrusts.

Soon his hips stutter as he chases his own completion. “You can come now, Angel,” He says, speeding up his fist around his angel and Aziraphale gives a huge sob as he comes, his spend dripping over Crowley's hand and onto his own stomach. Crowley is not far behind him, hips stuttering and screwing in as tight as he can to come deep in his angel’s clenching channel.

Crowley pauses deep in his angel before he begins pulling out. Aziraphale gives a whine of disappointment. “Please,” His angel says and Crowley pauses again.

“Please what, Angel?” He asks gently.

“Don’t leave me,” Aziraphale whispers tears in his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Crowley says wrapping his arms around his angel’s torso as much as possible with his legs still hoisted above his head.

“Don’t leave me empty.”

Crowley gives a hum of understanding and with a snap has a dildo moulded after his own hard cock and slowly removes his flagging member from his angel’s arse and Aziraphale gives more whines of protest.

“Shh, Angel. I know. But I can’t stay hard forever, You’ll like this. I promise.” Crowley assures him softly. And once out he slowly pushes the dildo into his angel. The flared base sticking out with a small circular handle and Aziraphale sighs in approval.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another snap has the infernal iron releasing his angel’s ankles and slowly, Crowley eases his angel’s legs down and massages the muscles as they acclimate to relaxing. His arms are next bringing them slowly down to lay next to his angel’s body. The collar is the last released and Aziraphale gives another whine. Crowley hushes him gently and turns his angel onto his side and climbing behind him wraps his legs around his angel’s hip and his arms around his torso and places one hand gently around his angel’s throat. Aziraphale sighs contentedly.

“You did so well, Angel. You were perfect. My perfect angel. My own.” Crowley croons and Aziraphale soaks it in, relaxing incrementally. Crowley buries his head in the crook of Angel’s neck and inhales deeply. His angel. And slowly, Aziraphale falls into a light sleep with Crowley following after him.


	21. Emergency Relocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale get a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This I think is the last chapter. If there is anything people want to see more of let me know. I might get another chapter of wrap up epilogue and maybe slice of life oneshots in a series here.

Crowley wakes first still wrapped around his angel, his hand still gently holding his angel around his throat. His other hand trails gently over his angels soft chest and presses gently at the deep bruises forming there and on his hips. Aziraphale gives a great stretch before settling and sighing deeply.

“Crowley,” his angel sighs and Crowley smiles.

“My angel,” Crowley coos. And Aziraphale smiles and stretches again and winces. “What’s wrong?” Crowley says immediately.

“That dildo you put up my arse.”

“Ah,” Crowley says and gently goes to remove it. “You didn’t want to be empty.”

“I like feeling you inside me. Keep it.” Aziraphale admits.

“I will.” Crowley says and sets the dildo of himself to the side. “Otherwise how do you feel?”

“Relaxed. Calm.” Aziraphale says.

“Good.” Crowley says gently.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale whispers after a time with Crowley's hands tracing patterns on his stomach.

“Yes, Love?”

“Are… Are we going to be okay?” Aziraphale asks softly.

Crowley's hands stop their paths on his angel’s skin. “What makes you think we won’t be?”

“We have 6000 years of lies between us. Aren’t you worried about how quickly we seem to have gotten over it?” Aziraphale asks quietly and Crowley strains to hear him.

“No, because we know each other. Names are simply that. Names. I know you and I hope you know me.” Crowley tells him gravely.

“It seems so easy when you put it like that.”

“Are you having second thoughts?” Crowley asks nervously.

“No. No just thinking.”

Crowley hums distractedly. And buries his face in the crook of his angel’s neck and presses light kisses to the soft flesh. Aziraphale tilts his head to the side offering his neck to his King when Crowley's mobile goes off. They both narrow their eyes but with a snap of his fingers, Crowley has the mobile in his hands. It’s an unknown number.

“Yes?” Crowley asks testily.

“Dad?” comes from the other end of the line.

“Adam?” he asks after a pause. “What are you doing calling me? Is everything alright?” Crowley asks worriedly.

“I lost my temper.” Adam says, his voice small and ashamed. “Can I stay with you for a little while?”

“Where are you?” Crowley says letting go of his angel and getting out of the bed.

“At Anathema’s. Jasmine Cottage.”

“I’m in Hell right now. Meet me at the bus stop. I’ll be there. Give me an hour and a half.” He says and waits for the dial tone before he hangs up the phone and turns to his angel who is already getting dressed.

“What do you think happened?” Aziraphale asks nervously.

“I don’t know. I don’t know whether he still has his powers. He was never human to begin with so he couldn’t have become human.” Crowley tells him searching for his shoes. Aziraphale clears his throat and hands him the shoes wryly.

“Poor kid.” Aziraphale says sadly.

They skip the trip back through Hell and arrive back in Crowley’s flat where they waste no time in proceeding down to the street and into the Bentley. The drive is taken at Crowley’s usual speed and they arrive in less time than he had said to find Adam waiting at the bus stop with his bike and Dog.

“Adam,” Crowley asks, jumping out of the Bentley. “What happened?”

“I lost my temper.”

“So you said but what happened?” Aziraphale asks while getting out more sedately. And joining Adam on the bench.

“Dad, Mr. Young. He wanted to put Dog down.”

“What?” Crowley asks incredulously.

“I got into a fight. With Greasy Johnson. The third baby. He lives in Tadfield, leads the rival gang. And Dog, he was protecting me. But he bit Johnson. And now Mr. Young says we have to put him down.” Adam said, keeping his head down and his voice low. “So I told him he wasn’t my real dad.”

“Adam.” Crowley says and pausing a moment, wraps his arm around Adam’s shoulder. He sighs. “Did they believe you?”

“Not at first. But then I showed them the paperwork from the hospital. The ones that burned down but I recreated. The ones that show there were three babies and that the nuns messed up.”

“They had paperwork saying they switched the babies?” Aziraphale asks. “That doesn’t sound very smart.”

“They were Satanists, Angel. They aren’t smart.” Crowley says. “What did the Young’s say to that?” Crowley asks.

“They just stormed out. I don’t know where they went.”

“Okay. Okay.” Crowley nods his head. “I think we need to talk with them.”

“Adam, do they know why the nuns switched the babies?”

“Yeah. That was in the paperwork. At least, it said repeatedly, ‘Our Master’s Son’. I assume it wouldn’t take much to figure out something was strange.”

“Okay. Well… well. We need to have a talk with them. But I don’t see why you can’t stay with us.” Aziraphale says looking to Crowley. Crowley gives a nod.

“Right. You can stay with us, Hell-spawn.” Crowley says and Adam smiles slightly and Dog barks and jumps up on Adam’s knees. “Dog too.” Crowley adds. “Let’s get you back to the Young’s and we can talk to them.”

“I’ll add the bike rack again.” Aziraphale says with a sardonic smile and puts the bike up on the newly tartan-ed bike rack. Adam and Dog climb into the back seat of the Bentley when Crowley gestures them in and then all three head off to 4 Hogback Lane.

Crowley parks on the side of the street and they all climb out. The Young’s are back if their car is any indication. Adam leads the way up the path and into the house.

“Adam, what is going on? Who is this?” Mrs. Young asks as they troop through the door.

“This is my real dad.” Adam says gesturing to Crowley.

“Your real dad. You knew who he was?” Mrs. Young asks.

“Only for the last week. He found me.”

“And that is…” She gestures to Aziraphale.

“That’s his…”

“Husband.” Crowley finishes.

“Oh good Lord.” Mrs. Young says and Mr. Young comes into the foyer.

“Get out.” Mr. Young says.

“No, I don’t think we will. We need to talk.” Crowley says idly.

“If you are Adam’s father then you can take him. I don’t want him anywhere near my house.” And Adam flinches.

“What did you just say?” Aziraphale hisses.

“You heard me.” Crowley takes off his glasses and Mr. Young pales. “I knew he was some unnatural thing. Their Master’s son. And just what are you?”

“Satan at your service,” Crowley hisses low and sibilant, nearly a whisper and bows his head mockingly.

“I won’t have the… the Antichrist in my home. Get out.” Mr. Young says and his wife is stunned but does not disagree.

“Mrs. Young?” Aziraphale asks and she looks away. “Come on, Adam, let’s gather your things. Let your father deal with them.”

And Aziraphale looks back with murder in his eyes and nods to Crowley.

Crowley smiles a shark’s smile. “You just made the biggest mistake of your rather short lives.” He says conversationally, as if remarking on the weather.

Mr. and Mrs. Young pale. They just pissed off Satan himself. Crowley does not hurt them. He doesn’t have to. He simply talks. He talks about what Hell is like and how they are going to enjoy it, they aren’t, and what they have to look forward to, pain. He simply talks with Dog sitting at his feet with glowing red eyes.

Adam and Aziraphale arrive back in the foyer to see Mr. and Mrs. Young standing with tears streaming down their faces and clutching each other's hands like lifelines.

Crowley turns to them and smiles happily. “All set, Adam?”

Adam just nods sadly.

“Come on, Hell-spawn.” Crowley says affectionately and wrapping his arm around Adam’s shoulders guides him out of the house and to the waiting Bentley. “I hope you like Queen.” He says as Adam climbs into the rear seat with Dog. “Where’s his stuff?”

“At your flat,” Aziraphale responds. “I thought it had more room than the bookshop. But we may need to re-evaluate our living situation.”

“I think so.” Crowley agrees with Queen blaring. And they make the trek back to the bookshop at a steady 90 miles per hour. “What do you think, Adam? Should we stay in London or see where else we might like better?”

“I haven’t been to London very often. Is it a fun place to live?” Adam asks.

“We’ve been there since it was founded almost. It’s a fine place to live for us. But I’m not sure about for a kid like you.” Aziraphale says.

“Well, let’s give it a try?” Adam suggests.

“We can do that. And move again if it doesn’t work out.” Crowley says. “We will need to get you enrolled at a school.” And as they pull into London traffic, Aziraphale takes his spare hand in his and presses a kiss to the back.

They make it back to Mayfair and up to Crowley’s flat where there are boxes of Adam’s things. Crowley sighs. “The flat isn’t made for comfort or living in.” He admits. “Doesn’t the bookshop have a flat up above?”

“Yes. It’s not used at all right now. We will have to furnish it. That could take some time to get the furniture ordered.” Aziraphale admits.

“Well, in the meantime. We can reorganize this one.” Crowley says. “The spare room can be turned into another bedroom for Adam. And we can just get the most essentials out of the boxes for now.”

“I’m not being a burden to you, am I?” Adam asks quietly.

“Adam,” Aziraphale says seriously. “You are our responsibility. You are not a burden.”

“Exactly, Hell-spawn. If we didn’t want you we wouldn’t have shown up.” Crowley says waving his concern away. “Besides, how can we expect a couple humans to teach you everything you need to know about being a celestial being. You aren’t human, Adam. You are more than they are.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale exclaims happily.”We can teach him to fly.”

“We have to make sure he has wings first, angel. Do you have wings?” Crowley asks.

“I don’t know. How would I find that out?” Adam asks.

“You feel them. In the ethereal planes. Just, close your eyes.” Crowley instructs and Adam does so. “And reach out not with your hands but your mind. Feel your fingertips. Feel your heart beat. Feel your wings. Ruffle the feathers. And bring them out. Into the physical realm.” Adam’s face is scrunched in concentration before there is a woosh of displaced air. And two pairs of lovely speckled wings are taking up the space behind him.

“Did it work?” Adam asks, not opening his eyes.

“It worked. They are lovely, Adam.” Aziraphale tells him truthfully.

“Now, good wing etiquette. Never touch another’s wings without permission. Just in general don’t go touching other people without permission but especially wings. They are an extension of your soul. To touch someone’s wings is to touch their soul. Understand?” Crowley explains.

“I understand.” Adam nods and Crowley reaches out to ruffle his hair.

“They really are something special, Adam. Can you bring them forward and you can see?” Crowley says gently.

“I think so.”

“It’s a new set of muscles to get used to but they respond to your thoughts the same way as any other muscle. You’ll get used to them.” Crowley tells him.

“They seem to be in good condition but we’ll also teach you to groom your wings.” Aziraphale adds.

“ _I’ll_ show him how to groom his wings.” Crowley says.

“Why you?” Aziraphale says, taking offence to the tone.

“Because, Angel. Your wings are a mess.”

“My wings are not a mess.” Aziraphale says haughtily.

“Angel, they are likely still burnt from the Fall. I’ll show him how to groom his wings.” Crowley tells him gently.

“Oh,” Aziraphale says like he has just been reminded of some horrible news. “I suppose you’re right, my dear.” He says slowly, not quite connected.

“Aziraphale, Love, come here.” Crowley says gently and takes him into his arms. “Let’s see how your wings are today? Will you show them to me?”

Aziraphale nods slowly and unveils his wings. They are pure white and in disarray but for the most part they have healed.

“There you are, just need straightening. Why don’t we do that later tonight after Adam gets settled. We can show him how to groom his wings.”

Aziraphale brings one of his wings forward to inspect it for damage and finding only feathers in disarray, nods numbly. “I expected it to take longer to heal.” He says quietly.

“What… what happened?” Adam asks quietly.

“A lot happened in the celestial planes after you didn’t end the world.” Crowley tells him. “Are you sure you want me as your father, Adam. Because I am not a nice person. I’ve killed people before. Angels. The good guys. We can still go back and wipe the Young’s minds and they will never know you aren’t their son.” He offers thinking of all the times he had sung lullabies to the wrong Damned kid.

“You killed angels?” Adam asks nervously.

“They were going to kill Aziraphale. We just learned a way around it.” Crowley tells him gravely.

“So you killed them?”

“They brought up Hellfire to burn him into non-existence. I just turned it against them.” Crowley explained patiently.

“But you killed them.”

“Yes. Permanently and forever. It unmade them.” Crowley admits.

“They weren’t good people, Adam. But the both of us killed angels. Archangels. But we haven’t harmed the other angels when they surrendered to Hell.” Aziraphale tells him seriously.

“They weren’t good people though?”

“They were very bad angels. They did not love humanity or the Earth. They wanted it destroyed.”

“The demons did too. Are you killing them?”

“Yes, Several demons did die.”

Adam swallows. “I see.”

“Adam,” Crowley says gently, waiting for Adam to meet his gaze. “I am the devil. Satan himself. I am a demon and I am not nice. But, and I promise you this, I will never harm you. I tempt people into doing bad things but I can’t make them follow through. They make their own choices. I merely… test… them.”

“I believe you.” Adam says slowly.

“Then I think it’s time for lunch.”Aziraphale says happily. “Do you like sushi?”

“Um… I’ve never had it.” Adam says and Aziraphale gives an overdramatic gasp of surprise.

“We will just have to fix that. Let's get you unpacked and head to the furniture store and then you can see the bookshop. Which I have to thank you for fixing, dear boy. It really meant a lot to me.” Aziraphale says and continues talking as he moves through the flat taking boxes to Adam’s room and Crowley comes up next to Adam and puts his arm around his shoulders.

“I’m proud of you, Adam. That bookshop means a lot to both of us. Now, where do you want to go for lunch?”

“Sushi is alright with me,” Adam says. “Should I call him Aziraphale or something else?”

“He’s Aziraphale, although if you want to see him cry you can always call him dad. Or Father. Or something similar. I meant it when I said he’s my husband. Just because we haven’t had a ceremony doesn’t make it less true.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You do that, Hell-Spawn.” And Crowley lets him go to help Aziraphale move boxes into the spare room and misses the content smile that stretches across Adam’s face.

The boxes are moved quickly and they eat at Aziraphale’s favourite sushi place, though Adam decides it’s not for him and orders something cooked. And they do make it to the bookshop and Adam falls as in love with it as the two Archangels had. They scope out the flat upstairs to discover a kitchen, dining area, a seating area and two bedrooms. Enough for their small new family. And seeing how the building belonged to Aziraphale, there was no rule against dogs, even small Hell-hounds. It was perfect. All that they needed was furniture and to enter Adam in one of the schools nearby. But they had time for that. For now, they miracle up a bed in the flat in Mayfair and eat a quiet dinner of takeaway and go to bed.

“Do you think Adam will be alright?” Aziraphale asks Crowley once they were both naked under the covers.

“I think he’ll be fine. He should never have been with regular humans to begin with. He belongs with us. He’s our son.” Crowley answers drowsily. It had been a long day.

“Your son, Crowley.”

“Ours, Angel. Now go to sleep.” Crowley answers, his arm thrown over his eyes as his angel sat up with one of his books and the side table lamp on.

“I’m going to read tonight. You go to sleep, dearest.” Aziraphale says and before he finishes he hears small hiss-like snores coming from his King. Aziraphale smiles to himself and settles in for a night of reading. After all, tomorrow is going to be a long day too. But there will be a tomorrow. And a day after.


	22. Family at last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, Aziraphale, Adam, and Dog spend their first day as a family.

There was a whining at the door. Crowley couldn’t for the life of him remember why there was a whining at the door until it hit him with a bark. Dog. He needed out. Sitting up, Crowley notices a distinct lack of Angel in his bed. And if Dog’s whining is anything to go by, not in the flat either.

“Dad?” Adam’s voice rings out. “I don’t know where to take Dog to go out.”

“Be right there, Adam.” Crowley hollers back. He gets out of bed and dresses with a snap. And opens the door. Adam is already dressed and has Dog on a leash waiting at the front door to the flat. “Let me leave a note for Aziraphale and we’ll head out to the park.”

It doesn’t take long until they are on the ground floor and running into Aziraphale with several books in his arms.

“Oh, my dears, I had planned to be back by the time you woke up.” Aziraphale tells them.

“Dog needed out, Aziraphale.” Adam tells him with a nervous smile.

“Oh, Adam, I’m sorry I should have taken him with me. I could have taken him through Golden Square. It’s not far from the Bookshop.”

“It’s alright, Angel, I was going to take him over to Berkeley Square Garden. It’s closer.” Crowley says.

“Oh, you’re probably right, dear.” Aziraphale says.

“I’m always right, Angel.” Crowley responds with a smirk. “Send your books up to the flat and take a walk with us.” He suggests.

“I would be delighted.” Aziraphale says and the books are dropped onto the great desk in Crowley's office. Crowley offers his arm and Aziraphale takes it. Together the four make their way down the streets of Mayfair to the park. It’s a pleasant walk and Crowley and Aziraphale point out interesting landmarks or bits of history that they remember. Adam soaks in the attention and Dog enjoys the new scents. He is on his very best behaviour. Satan himself is walking a hell-hound through the streets of London and Dog is very aware of how powerful he is.

They reach the garden without incident and wait as Dog finishes his business and moves on to scenting the air. With a gesture, the refuse is gone, miracled away to some trash heap and the group moves on.

“We have quite the to-do list today.” Aziraphale says on their way back to the flat. “We need to get Adam registered with a school and go furniture shopping.”

“I also have to check in with Beelzebub about Hell and let them know that Adam is staying with us.” Crowley adds.

“Why does Hell have to know that?” Adam asks, confused.

“So they pay you the proper respect.” Crowley tells him and explains, “You are a Prince of Hell, Adam. They should always have been bowing at your feet hoping you don’t notice them because if you notice them you can destroy them.”

“I wouldn’t destroy anybody.” Adam says.

“And that’s not a bad thing. You were raised to have empathy for others. It’s a very human trait. But celestial beings like angels and demons are made to follow orders. Your Father and I have picked up on empathy and love but you would not find them among the hosts of either Heaven or Hell.” Aziraphale explains patiently. “It’s why you saved the Earth and stopped the War. Not that the War was stopped for long. But it’s over with now.”

“So, what did happen in the celestial plane? After I saved the world?” Adam asks curiously.

“Well, Heaven and Hell cooperated to kill us. But it didn’t work. We seem to be immune to both Hellfire and Holy Water. But I killed the Archangels. Most of them. And then Michael attacked us again. And Aziraphale killed him. So we invaded Heaven and they surrendered. It’s not going to change anything. We still have jobs to do: testing the humans, taking care of their souls, torturing the wicked, and pampering the just.” Crowley admits.

“What about the Plan?” Adam asks.

“Which one? The Great Plan or the Ineffable one?” Aziraphale asks wryly. “I think it worked out according to Her Plan.”

“Probably,” Crowley adds bitterly as he unlocks the door to the flat and they all file in.

“We should pick a school and Adam will need a birth certificate eventually.”

“There’s a secondary school not far from Soho,” Crowley says looking up on his phone. “Seems to have good reviews.”

“Well, we should get him registered.” Aziraphale says.

“I’ll call and get it set up. Like you said he’ll need a birth certificate. So I suppose, Adam, what do you want your name to be?” Crowley asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean do you still want to be Adam Young? Or something else?” Crowley explains.

“Well, what’s your name?” Adam inquires.

“Anthony J. Crowley.” Crowley answers immediately.

“Aziraphale Z. Fell” Aziraphale says when Adam looks to him.

“So, shouldn’t I have one of your last names?” Adam asks hesitantly.

“You most certainly can.” Crowley says. “I go by Anthony or Ashteroth depending on my mood. And I did birth you myself so I would technically be your mum.”

“So does that make Aziraphale my dad?”

“I certainly can be, Adam. It would be an honour to be your dad.” Aziraphale tells him, smiling softly.

“Can we get a birth certificate that says that?” Adam asks.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Crowley asks, smiling. With a snap there is a copy of a birth certificate for an Adam Fell born to Ashteroth Crowley and Aziraphale Fell sitting innocuously on the desk. “You were born in a hospital that burnt down so we have the only copy of your records. Let’s not lose it.” And Adam nods seriously. “Good. Now I’ll get you enrolled at Normanhurst. Then we can go furniture shopping for the flat above the bookshop.” Crowley says.

“Normanhurst?”

“It’s an independent school in The National Gallery.” Crowley tells him.

“Ah,” Aziraphale says. And that’s all that is said on the matter.

It doesn’t take long to get a hold of the school and Adam is set up to attend when the summer is over. So they head out, leaving Dog at home, to go furniture shopping. They make it to the shop and browse and test sofas and beds and chairs. And reassure Adam that they have plenty of money to afford to furnish the flat. Once everything is ordered, they head back to the bookshop where they begin planning layouts and moving boxes miraculously from one flat to the other. Bookshelves are delivered immediately and knick knacks are unpacked and placed on the shelves. Tables, too, find themselves placed and used. And soon it’s time for dinner and another day is over. The trip back to Mayfair in the Bentley is quick and soon they are eating dinner and heading back to bed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once the door is closed on the rest of the flat, Crowley pounces, latching himself to his angel’s lips and trailing his lips down to darken his mark on his angel’s neck once again.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasps. “Adam,” he protests weakly.

“We are celestial beings, Angel, and soundproofing is a thing we can do.” Crowley says not lifting his face from the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. His hands find their way to Aziraphale's waistcoat buttons and slowly starts to open them. His hands slip the garment from his angel’s shoulders to pool gently on the floor before he undoes the knot of Aziraphale’s bow tie.

Aziraphale’s hands tug Crowley’s head up to kiss him properly and Crowley’s hands tug his shirt free of his trousers and slip under to touch bare flesh. Aziraphale gives a moan and his head drops back to expose his throat to Crowley's ministrations. Crowley wastes no time in diving back to work pressing another claiming mark to the junction of his angel’s neck and shoulder. Aziraphale’s hands get to work unbuttoning his own shirt before Crowley’s hands stop him and pin them to the wall behind him next to his head.

“Stay,” he growls and Aziraphale whimpers.

“Yes, Sire,” Aziraphale nods in agreement.

Crowley smirks as he returns to unwrapping his angel slowly. His hands continue his angel’s work on his shirt and soon it follows the waistcoat on the floor and his mouth continues marking his angel’s shoulder. Aziraphale’s hands clench around air with the desire to move but Crowley notices they do not even shake. For that, he gives his angel a filthy kiss to his lips. He grabs hold of his angel’s hair and tilts his head to give better access to his mouth and then to direct him over to sit on the bed. A minor miracle has the angel’s clothes set on the dresser and his angel bare before him.

Crowley slots himself into the space between Aziraphale’s thick thighs and digs his hands into Aziraphale’s hair and tilts his head up to look at him.

“I got you a present, Angel.” Crowley says kindly.

Aziraphale hums questioningly. “A present?” his eyes are drifting closed at the feel of fingers in his hair. One of the hands leaves and he whines before there is a snap and Crowley is holding a beautiful sky blue leather collar. The same colour as his eyes. And Aziraphale’s eyes widen. Crowley takes his other hand from his angel’s hair to toy with the collar. There is no clasp, it’s designed to be put on and off by magic. The outside is supple leather but there is a strip of infernal iron ringing the inside. Aziraphale’s breathing picks up minutely but Crowley can tell.

“Would you like to put it on?” Crowley asks softly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale says in a strangled whisper. And with a soft snap, the collar is around his neck. He hisses at the feel of infernal iron but calms quickly and gives a sigh of contentment. Crowley’s hands trail the collar and test the give and ensure it’s not too tight but he can fit two fingers between the collar and bare flesh and he is satisfied.

“Good, Angel?” He asks. Aziraphale’s eyes had slipped shut again at the feel of the collar around his throat and all he gives is a hum of agreement. “I had plans for you tonight, Angel. They will be ruined if you fall asleep on me.” Crowley says teasingly and Aziraphale forces his eyes open. “Get on the bed. On your back. And bring your wings out.”

Aziraphale begins to obey and then asks. “Wings?”

“Yes, your wings,” Crowley reiterates calmly.

“If it please you, Sire.” Aziraphale says obediently.

“It pleases me greatly to see your wings.” Crowley says and soon the room is full of white feathers, pearlescent and grand. Aziraphale lays back on his back with his wings spread out on either side of him and watches as Crowley comes to circle the bed.

Crowley uses another miracle to lay himself bare and climbs up the foot of the bed until he is kneeling carefully among his angel’s feathers over his prone and trusting angel. “My pretty bird,” he croons and Aziraphale preens. Crowley gently smooths the feathers close to him and Aziraphale jumps. They were not kidding when they said touching someone’s wings is like touching their soul. And nobody had touched Aziraphale’s wings since he was stationed in Heaven with Lucifer. Slowly, Crowley works his way through the feathers straightening and soothing until the feathers are all lying straight and pretty.

Throughout, Aziraphale slowly starts to drift. It is not a short process, straightening the wings, but Crowley takes his time with it anyway and is sitting back, done. He leans over the angel to press soft kisses to his face and neck around the collar. Until Aziraphale opens his eyes again.

“I still want to have you tonight.” Crowley says lasciviously and Aziraphale hums happily. Crowley situates himself in between Aziraphale’s legs and his angel spreads his legs far to either corner of the bed. “Do you want the chains again tonight?” Crowley asks and Aziraphale pauses to deliberate and shakes his head no. Crowley leans down to kiss him again. “Okay.” he says simply and miracles up the bottle of lube from down in Hell and resolves to get a bottle for both locations. He takes his time preparing Aziraphale slowly and steadily and Aziraphale hums contentedly. Once he feels Aziraphale is ready, he removes his fingers from the hot channel and slicks up his hard cock to push in slowly. They both give a sigh of satisfaction when he is seated and Crowley starts a slow and steady rhythm. He’s not in a hurry tonight.

He leans down to press kisses to his angel’s soft stomach and chest kissing lightly at the marks he had left there. He keeps his rhythm steady but slowly picks up his pace and force until he is thrusting forcefully and his angel sighs and mewls. His hands tangle in his angel’s feathers undoing his hard work as he chases his completion. He takes the time to wrap his hand around his angel’s prick and strokes him quickly. Crowley comes too soon in his opinion but after an hour of gentle rocking. He pulls out and his angel whines until he miracles up the dildo he had used before and slowly pushes it into his angel’s fluttering entrance. He moves down the bed to take his angel’s still hard cock into his mouth and sucks gently at the head and bobbing his head strokes in time with his suckling and soon has his angel coming deep down his throat.

Aziraphale sighs as he comes, his eyes still closed. Crowley pulls off slowly and watches Aziraphale’s eyes open to look down at him. There is love in his eyes. Perfect and all-consuming and Crowley looks back with the same love shining in his eyes. Crowley crawls back up the bed to lay on top of his angel flesh pressed to flesh and kisses him tenderly.

“Do you want me to take the collar off?” Crowley asks gently. Aziraphale shakes his head no and Crowley smiles softly at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We need to take a trip to Hell tomorrow. I’m worried about taking Adam but I think it’s important for him to see it.” Crowley admits pressing gentle kisses to Aziraphale’s bare chest.

“I think he can handle seeing it. Are you going to have someone collect the Young’s?” Aziraphale asks drowsily.

“Yes. They don’t get to treat my son like that. Like a monster. He saved their lives. And everyone’s lives.”

“I completely agree with you. Adam doesn’t deserve that. I’m proud of you, Crowley. I know you didn’t want him at first but you are doing a great job trying to be his dad.”

“I didn’t want the Apocalypse. There is a difference. Had I been able to conceive him with you there would have been a difference.” Crowley admits.

“I love you too, Crowley.” Aziraphale says smiling sappily as he drifts off. Crowley just presses a chaste kiss to his angel’s lips and settles himself on top of his angel, burrowing his head into Aziraphale's chest and following him into sleep.


	23. Ruling the Heavens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, Aziraphale, and Adam take a trip to Hell and to Heaven.

The next morning dawns bright and Crowley is awakened by Aziraphale’s hands running through his hair.

“Morning, Love,” Aziraphale says, his wings still out and wrapped around the two of them.

“Morning, Angel.” Crowley greets with a kiss. “We had best get ready for the day.”

“I wish I could wear your collar all the time,” Aziraphale says with a pout as Crowley pulls out of his arms.

“We could make it invisible but let's find something else for you to wear instead.” Crowley says as he stands and grabs Aziraphale’s clothes to hand to him.

“I like the feeling of your hand around my throat,” Aziraphale admits sitting up and taking the offered bundle of clothes. A snap has him feeling refreshed to face the day without the need for a shower.

Crowley smiles and obliges his angel who leans into the grip around his throat. Aziraphale gives a contented hum. And Crowley leans down to kiss him gently. And loosens his grip.

“Later. Dog needs out.” Crowley says. And snaps the collar off his angel’s neck and into his waiting hand. Aziraphale gives a small pout but stands up.

“I’ll go see to Dog and Adam. I know how you enjoy your leisurely showers.” Aziraphale says.

“Enjoy them better with you.” Crowley says giving him another kiss and going into the attached bathroom. He doesn’t linger today. It’s too busy a day for that. But he doesn’t rush. When he’s done he finds the flat empty and a note saying they had taken Dog for a walk. In the meantime, he makes a call Downstairs to speak to Beelzebub.

Aziraphale, Adam and Dog make it back to the flat quickly, they hadn’t lingered either. And Crowley is waiting for them. “Adam,” He greets. “I think it’s time you see Hell.”

“Hell, can I do that? Wouldn’t I need to die?” Adam asks

“Not,” Crowley says conspiratorially, “If we take the main entrance.” and he jingles his keys.

“You’ll love the main entrance, Adam” Aziraphale tells him. “But not so much Hell. It’s pretty dirty and cramped. No space to let out your wings.”

“Oh,” Adam says.

“Let’s go.” Crowley says and they head out. Adam and Dog both climb in the rear seat and Crowley and Aziraphale in the front they make their way to the Tower. And go in. Aziraphale and Crowley sink right down and Adam pauses a moment before following them trustingly.

The Gates of Hell are open wide and demons are travelling to and fro behind them. They are grumbling and complaining but working. And Adam steps closer to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“No fear, Adam. You are their Prince. You must act like it. Be confident. You are in charge.” Crowley says lowly into Adam’s ear. Aziraphale gives his shoulder a squeeze before they begin walking through the Gates and into the offices of Hell. Dog gives a growl and the demons back up. Dog is no longer the gentle puppy that Adam is used to but it is Dog all the same. Huge and growling viciously. And all the demons give the foursome a wide berth. Crowley out front with Aziraphale a step behind. Adam is next to Aziraphale and Dog pads at his other side. Demons all around them drop to their knees as They pass and quickly get back to work once they're gone. There are murmurs of conversation but the buzz dies as they pass only to restart once their backs are turned.

It doesn’t take long to get through the winding hallways of Hell and to the offices for the upper echelons. Beelzebub is waiting at the door to Crowley’s office and then further into the royal quarters.

“We have been expecting you, Sire. I laid the paperwork on your desk. And the builders are eager to get to work building an attachment to the Palace for Prince Adam.” Xe says as a greeting.

“Very good, Beelzebub. I am pleased with your work.” Crowley says and Beelzebub bows low to the ground. “Adam, Aziraphale, why don’t you and Dog take a walk through the Palace while I talk business with Beelzebub.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale says respectfully and guides Adam and Dog through Crowley’s office and into the Palace.

“Sire?” Beelzebub asks.

“Yes, Beelzebub?” Crowley grants.

“Did the angel like his collar?”

“Angel loved his collar. It is so nice when a plan comes together isn’t it?” He smiles a sharp smile.

“He doesn’t realize?”

“That demon seed is addictive? I don’t think so. But by how willingly he killed Michael for me, I don’t think he would care.” Crowley tells xir.

“And Adam?”

“He is mine.” Crowley growls “My son. And he will be treated with just as much respect as myself or the King’s Consort. After all, I don’t think any of the three of us qualify as angel or demon any longer but definitely not human.”

“Sire?”

“The Holy Water didn’t harm me. Nor Aziraphale. And neither does Hellfire. What becomes of an Archangel that Falls?” He wonders idly.

“They rule the Heavens, Sire.” Beelzebub says calmly.

“That they do, Beelzebub. That they do.” He agrees. “The Young’s. They turned their back on Adam. I want them collected and tormented. Don’t let him know.”

“Of course, Sire. Where are they?” xe asks.

“4 Hogback Lane, Tadfield.”

“And is the Angel aware?” Beelzebub asks idly.

“He encouraged it.” Crowley smiles.

“Metatron sent a missive looking for you, Sire.” Beelzebub tells him after a time. “I just received it when you came down.”

“I wonder what he wants.”

“To introduce you to the new angels in charge of Heaven. I believe.” xe tells him.

“Probably. Very well. I will go meet with him. After I collect my family.” And he smiles as he says it.

Beelzebub bows xeir head and takes a step back away from him and proceeds back to xeir office.

Crowley moves into the office and through into the rest of the Palace. It is not a large palace all things considered and it takes a very short amount of time before he finds them in the throne room inspecting his throne. Still of stone and bone.

“I see you’ve found the throne. It was the first thing built when we pulled ourselves out of the pools.”

“The pools?” Adam asks.

“Of burning lava and acid.” Crowley tells him.

Adam pales. “That must have hurt.”

“It did.” Crowley sighs.

“And where is your crown?” Aziraphale asks, changing the subject.

And Crowley pulls his crown out of the desk drawer in his office and into his waiting hand. It too is made of stone and bone and they inspect it with morbid curiosity. Crowley puts it on for a moment at their behest and smiles wryly raising one elegant eyebrow in question.

“Very good look on you, love.” Aziraphale says.

Adam nods.

“I’m glad you approve. Now, Metatron wants to speak to me. So we have a pit stop to make up in Heaven before we head out.”

“Again, can I get to Heaven?” Adam asks.

“I don’t see why not. We’ll take the elevator.” And Crowley leads them to the elevator and they pile in. The elevator is a long ride and takes forever and no time at all.

They exit and see the angels running to and fro much like in Hell only with much more open space. The angels give them a wide berth but they all bow their heads in respect to their victors. They make their way to Metatrons’ office located next to the throne room. Metatron stands as they enter his office and bows his head to them.

“Welcome, Lucifer and Raphael. And Adam.” He says mildly.

“Metatron. What can we do for you?” Crowley asks.

“She has spoken. We are to answer to you now. So I would like to know where to send your paperwork and what your orders are.” Metatron says.

“I have enough on my plate to run Hell. Angel, you want Heaven?” He asks Aziraphale.

“If I must.” Aziraphale says. “I would prefer to place someone in charge to deal with the day to day and I can just sign off on paperwork. Much like Beelzebub. Metatron, can I trust you to run Heaven in my stead?” He asks.

“If I know your wishes, I will see it done.” Metatron says.

“Then continue as we have been. Only, learn how to Love them. All angels. We haven't been interacting as much and it shows. Not just in the humans but in the angels.”

“I will see it done.” Metatron says.

“Not to say we tell the humans we exist.” Aziraphale clarifies.

“I did not think so.”

Aziraphale nods. “Proceed as usual then. For now.”

Metatron nods and bows his head.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to know,” Crowley begins and Metatron turns to him. “Why we aren’t impacted by Holy Water?”

“You are Archangels. Your Grace can not be taken from you.”

“I know we Fell.” Crowley says.

“But your Grace was not taken from you like with the others. It cannot be. Or was not. For She is capable of all things.” Metatron answers. And Crowley nods despite not being satisfied.

“Alright. Well, we are going to get back to Earth.”

“You can send the paperwork to my desk on Earth.” Aziraphale tells him as Crowley turns to leave and Adam and Dog follow him.

They reach the elevator together again and this time they stop at ground floor. Dog is Dog again and Adam is thankful if his sigh of relief is anything to go by. They make the drive back to Mayfair in record time with Queen blasting on the radio. And Adam smiles in the rear seat. Another day is gone. But Crowley feels it was a step forward. The furniture is being delivered the next day so they can get settled into their new flat together and make it a home. His Angel is his now and forever. And They get to raise their son. Together. She is laughing but he’s not sure if it’s at him any more or with him. 


	24. Authors note

Hello everyone, I wanted to say that this story has been made into a series so click the subscribe button to get notified of other one shots in this universe but also for the second part of the story. Prices Paid. Aziraphale/Raphael's version of how things went. 

I want to say a huge thanks to everyone who left kudos and Comments. I see you and I thank you. You are what keeps me writing. I started this story with a half baked idea and ran with it. And this came out of it. I am so glad and so thankful that every one enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


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